When the Watchmen Look Away
by Fastern
Summary: AU, formally "The Blackmailers" / Fred and George Weasley stumble upon a great weapon: a pocket watch that predicts the time of death of the holder, and right now, that watch is saying that in two years, six months, and six days, they are going to die.
1. The Brothers Prewett

**A/N:** God, I actually started this story months ago and then abandoned it for a while. I guess it's time to get down to business.

I edited this chapter - not a lot, but just punching out the more obvious errors. To be honest I'm a horrible proofreader.

ANYWAYS.

This story was born out of a love for the Prewett twins - Fabian and Gideon - combined with a love for the Weasley twins, and how so many stories about Fred and George are about Fred dying. I wanted to write a story where both twins were alive and well (at least for now ;D).

I highly debated whether or not to post a "full summary" in the author's note here, but ultimately I decided that I want to avoid accidentally implicating what may and may not happen. Unless enough people tell me they want a full plot summary, it's going to remain between me and my keyboard. On that note, reviews are so, so appreciated and they do provide some level of motivation to continue writing.

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**Warning:**

This story does not and will not follow the established canon of Harry Potter. It takes place in a world where the Prewetts have extremely potent magical blood and an elaborate family history, memories are fragile but still stronger than the will of evil, and Muggles can be just as dangerous as Dark Wizards. It is not a retelling of the Harry Potter books from the perspective of the Weasley twins, but a series of challenges and "what ifs" woven into a story centering around a rather remarkable (and troublesome, as later revealed) pocketwatch. Some characters who died in the series have the potential to survive, while others will perish as J. K. Rowling intended.

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**I. The Brothers Prewett**

_September 1981_

Far above, the stars marched across the sky and the quarter-moon glistened ominously. Augustus Rookwood had a good feeling about this.

A sly smile playing at his features, he cast a silencing spell and crept through the underbrush and kept a sharp eye out for his targets. He could sense the presence of his fellow Death Eaters moving in the shadows locked between the trees. The forest was dense, and their targets elusive, but he knew that they were here. He could smell their waning confidence driving them on like a frail scent caught on a breeze. These wizards were already dead simply because he willed it. Sensing movement nearby, he turned and came face-to-face with Dolohov, a man he'd fought along side many times before and still didn't trust completely. He was burly, and his dark hair blended in perfectly with his surroundings, and like him, he had an unrestrained air of excitement.

Dolohov smiled and his smile was enough to make the Dark Lord tremble. It was in complete contrast to Rookwood, himself. The other Death Eaters said he appeared "relatively normal" when properly groomed. Tall and pock-marked, his hair was dark and his eyes wide and alight with energy.

Rookwood yawned in response to Dolohov, to which his companion looked mildly annoyed at his lack of apparent enthusiasm. On the inside it was a different story. Rookwood could hardly muster the placidity to maintain an appearance of absolute calm. For the past few years, these wizards had been his main adversaries; constantly dodging and eluding him and always making him look like a fool. Tonight was different and they'd caught them off guard. But he knew that allowing his excitement to get the better of him would only allow their prey to escape; he had to remain level-headed. Normally he'd jump in head long. Tonight he had to watch every step carefully. Most of all, he couldn't let Dolohov get in the way. If Dolohov screwed up, if anyone here messed up, then that ensured that his targets would get away. They didn't understand the seriousness of the situation. Rookwood did.

Rookwood understood because these were the Prewett twins. After hours of tracking, they were close, and the conclusion to this chase was approaching. One of them was already injured, if not, dead, and the other would refuse to leave his brother behind. Animals were most dangerous when wounded.

Movement ahead. A flash to their right. Rookwood moved towards it.

He let out a cry of surprise as he tripped over a cloaked body. Death Eater. He didn't check to see if he was dead; he merely drew out his wand and aimed it at a pair of figures streaking past. He charged after them.

'Avada Kedavra!' Rookwood hollered. The spell narrowly flew over the head of the nearest figure, who abruptly turned.

'Confringo!' he countered. The ground before him exploded, knocking Rookwood back. The air sucked out of his lungs. Footsteps ran by him. No. He wasn't going to let them escape! He stumbled up.

The Prewetts had gained a significant lead. Ahead, one of the Death Eaters slammed into an visible shield spell they were conjuring in front of them, before his robes spontaneously lit on fire. Rookwood slashed his wand wildly, sending an array of killing curses in their direction. They deflected. Rookwood gritted his teeth – exactly how long did these idiots think they could go on?

Charging forwards, Rookwood came dangerously close to the twins. He moved his wand down, then in a sharp, swirling motion, unleashing a discharge of bright purple energy that violently shot through the air.

BANG.

He just barely had the opportunity to cast a shield charm. The forest lit up in an unnatural glow that highlighted every leaf, every shivering animal, in a hollow light. Rookwood slid backwards, but did not fall. When he emerged, the only noise he heard were his desperate gasps for air. White spots flashed before his eyes. The ground beneath him swayed dangerously. The only voice he heard was muffled.

'Fabian! Fabian, God, no! Are you alright? ! Fabian!'

'I'm fine - keep going.'

The voice was desperate, scared. Uncharacteristic of the Prewetts. Rookwood felt a fleeting moment of sympathy. The Prewetts appeared somewhere in front of him, half-limping, half-sprinting. One was supporting the other. The twin that was uninjured turned to cast a spell in Rookwood's direction, a spell cast so haphazardly that he sidestepped it without incident.

And just like that, they were gone.

Rookwood aimed in the direction they'd disappeared in. Dolohov and three other Death Eaters did the same.

They burst into a clearing littered with wet autumn leaves that had escaped their branches. It was Rookwood who outstretched his wand. An invisible hand reached out and snatched the ankles of Gideon, causing him to fall face-forward to the earth, accompanied by his twin. But they were both on their feet an instant, one with some difficulty. They made to run for it. Unfortunately for them, they'd been flanked. The remaining Death Eaters emerged from the opposite side of the clearing, cornering them. The twins turned on the spot to keep them at bay. The injured twin slammed one Death Eater into a tree. He fell over. The second he lit on fire, waving his wand to encourage the flames to engulf him.

Finally, Fabian Prewett could no longer stand, blood soaking his robes. His brother caught him and twisted to face his attackers. A Death Eater whose name did not matter rushed forwards, only to go flying across the clearing as his face melded back into his head and disappeared, his screams muffled. It was here that Rookwood saw his opportunity. With a single slash, Gideon was knocked backwards and Fabian collapsed to the ground.

Amongst the fallen autumn leaves and with the moon at his back, Gideon raised himself up, wand raised.

'NO!' he shouted. 'Come on! COME ON THEN, YOU COWARDS!'

The red-haired wizard expanded a shield charm. And in that moment, Rookwood saw the face of the twins he knew so well and hated so much.

Gideon Prewett. Stern, serious. More likely to calculate and analyze, but still quite comical when he believed the upper hand. Now that demeanor was slipping away. On the ground was his twin, Fabian Prewett. Kinder and less cruel, however impulsive and more temperamental.

Rookwood advanced quickly, surprising the wizard, conjuring various lights as distractions. When he was almost nose-to-nose with him, he pointed his wand right in between Gideon's infuriated eyes. With a simple stunning spell he was knocked backwards, but that wasn't enough to hold him. The wizard's feet slid against the slick, wet grass. After all this time. After years of combating, he finally had the upper hand.

'Crucio,' he said casually.

Gideon arched back. His screams penetrated the otherwise still night, his voice a petrifying, unheard cry for help. Every limb lurched in protest. Rookwood ceased if only for a minute. Gideon's breath came in ragged gasps. When he resumed, Gideon flipped onto his stomach, still jerking vehementally.

From the darkness, Dolohov approached. There was a smear of blood on his face, but he was smirking and his drawn wand was directed at Gideon. The downed wizard managed to draw his own. With a unconcerned flick, Gideon's wand flew across the clearing. Gideon looked after it forlornly. Dolohov slashed upwards. A stream of blood flew from a fresh vertical cut appearing on the wizard's throat. He fell on his back, chest heaving. At this point, Dolohov looked to Rookwood, inviting him to take a turn, but Rookwood shook his head. Torture was dirty – a waste of time. He preferred to kill his targets and prevent delay. Dolohov smiled crookedly. He preferred to break them before the kill.

Rookwood sighed and wiped sweat off his brow. Fighting was a dirty business. Normally he didn't bother with it. Under ordinary circumstances he'd be more inclined to create an convoluted trap and then laugh from the shadows as his victims died. No, fighting was dirty. _Death_ was dirty. Everything about this whole goddamn war was dirty.

Around him, the surviving Death Eaters were panting, doubled over, and equally exhausted from the pursuit. He moved over to the body that belonged to Fabian Prewett. Gideon's brother – completely identical from his vivid red hair to the thin pattern of freckles on his face – had not had a painless death. Fabian lay on his side, one hand outstretched with blood dripping from his finger tips, and the other clutching the gaping hole that had been shot into his abdomen sometime during the fight. The twins had stumbled in the woods for hours while the Death Eaters pursued them, the instructions from the Dark Lord still echoing in their minds.

"_Kill all members of the Order of the Phoenix. Let them understand what it means to oppose me. Show no mercy."_

No mercy, indeed.

He almost felt sorry. These annoyances were taken care of, but he'd miss their deceit and lies. And the chase. There would be others to chase, but none as talented as the Prewetts.

He had to admit. The Prewetts had put up one hell of a fight. Rookwood scanned the edge of the forest and for any sign of the remaining Death Eaters aside from the four of them, but the only one in sight was a body curled in the moonlit grass, face down and obviously dead. The others had undoubtedly shared the same fate.

It seemed fair. The Death Eaters paid the price of three or four lives for the lives of two valiant and extremely powerful twin wizards. Their companions had been expendable to begin with while every member of the Order of the Phoenix was precious. With every death, they grew weaker. With every death, Albus Dumbledore made another mistake. Rookwood grinned in grim satisfaction. He didn't much care for murder, but if it meant that purebloods – and the Dark Lord – would reign supreme, it didn't matter. This was for the future of the wizarding race.

He inhaled the cool night air and then moved back to where Dolohov was looming over Gideon. He wasn't quite dead yet. Their victim's eyes moved rapidly, seeing nothing, while blood streamed down his chin and neck. His skin was stark white.

Dolohov raised his wand and violently slammed it down. A crack filled the air – sounds like Gideon had broken a few bones. He retched. Blood pasted his clothing to his pale skin.

'We should get a drink later,' suggested Rookwood. 'My treat.'

'Sounds like a plan,' agreed Dolohov. '_Crucio!_ I'm surprised he hasn't cracked yet. I got Marlene McKinnon screaming for mercy in just minutes.'

'Now you're exaggerating.'

He fell silent at this point because Gideon's screaming was too strident for him to hear Dolohov.

'I'm not exaggerating,' Dolohov contradicted intensely.

'McKinnon was pretty powerful. It would've taken at least a few hours to get her to crack. Are you going to hurry up and kill him so we can get that drink?'

'Don't rush me. The Killing Curse is too light a punishment for blood traitors.'

'If you say so,' Rookwood shrugged. He didn't particularly want to argue with Dolohov. He was certain that he'd never intentionally hurt him, but it wouldn't hurt to avoid potential confrontations.

Dolohov raised his wand again, this time aiming it at Gideon's left arm. The arm twisted and bent wildly, accompanied by several audible cracks. Gideon grit his teeth, his face contorting, but no scream escaped his lips. His face was set with determination. Rookwood folded his arms and vaguely wondered how long this was going to go on. If he knew Dolohov, perhaps for hours.

A flash briefly lit up the trees.

'Did you hear that?' Rookwood demanded.

'What?'

'From the woods.'

'It's your imagination. _Crucio_!'

Gideon could no longer restrain himself. He twisted on the ground, curled into a ball, and let out a cracked scream. Despite the noise, Rookwood heard the thunder of footsteps from behind the. The other Death Eaters had their wands drawn.

'I mean it!' Rookwood grabbed Dolohov's shoulder. 'It has to be the Order! We're in no shape to take on a whole bunch of them!'

'Shit.'

Dolohov sliced his wand across Gideon's chest. At first, it seemed as though the unspoken spell had been ineffective, until his robs parted, followed by his skin, to allow a dark line of blood to spill out. Life was being drained out of his mud-covered face. In a crack, the group vanished.

At almost the exact moment that they disappeared, two figures emerged from the edge of the wood, wands raised in anticipation. They were still for a second, scanning the grass swaying gently in the breeze, as if to suggest that all was well and the chaos had been in their imagination. Someone muttered "Lumos" and a wand lit, bathing a white glow on the sickly features of Remus Lupin and on the glistening eyeball of Mad-Eye Moody. They moved forwards slowly, back-to-back. They knew all too well the risks of moving into an open area.

'Fabian?' Lupin called into the darkness. His voice was surprisingly level. 'Gideon? !'

'There!' Mad-Eye pointed.

Lupin hurried forwards the moment the light fell on the crumpled body of a red-haired man. Blood stained the tips of the grass blades. He roughly pushed him over, heart pounding, and he was met with the hollow eyes of Fabian Prewett. His head slumped to the side. Lupin nearly stopped breathing. Fabian couldn't be dead. The Prewetts were invincible! They'd been to hell and returned without a scratch!

'Shame,' Mad-Eye grumbled.

Without checking for any concealed Death Eaters, Lupin sprinted to the second body and collapsed by the side of Gideon. He was face-up, his fingertips trembling.

'Thank God!' Lupin shouted with relief. 'Gideon. Gideon? ! Can you hear me?'

Gideon's eyes flew open and he inhaled sharply. With a bloody hand he reached out and wrapped his fingers into the fabric of Lupin's jacket. His face was white.

'Fabian,' the word was hoarsely whispered, a desperate cling to life.

'I'm sorry,' Lupin said softly.

Tears streaked down Gideon's face, mixing with the blood already soaking it. His breath rattled, though it was clear he was taking in no air, and his eyes searched for something he couldn't see. His hand waved vaguely in the air.

'Gideon, stay awake!' Remus pleaded, pushing his hand down. 'Gideon, don't. Gideon?...Gideon?'

Gideon's features softened. Then he was still.

'He's dead,' Mad-Eye said lowly. When Remus looked up, his face was unusually hard and angry. 'I'll send word to Albus – tell him we were too late.'

Mad-Eye stepped away and a silvery white patronus leapt forth from his wand and sprinted through the woods, no doubt carrying the grim news to the leader of their highly elusive group. Lupin continued to kneel by the body of a man he scarcely knew. The Order had rarely convened in large numbers on account of it being too much of a risk - hell, Lupin didn't even know who some members were - but he knew Gideon and Fabian Prewett well enough to find himself shaking and incapable of comprehending their deaths, though it the evidence was lying right in front of him. Mad-Eye had disappeared to search for additional Death Eaters.

Finally, the werewolf summoned the courage to search Gideon's pockets. They were empty except for a folded piece of paper, yet when he opened it, there were no words written on it. He pocketed it; it might contain a secret message that may prove of some value. He then moved to Fabian's body. He arranged Fabian's hands so they covered the grizzly wound in his abdomen and dug his fingers into the Prewett's pocket. This time they touched a round, metal object ice cold to the couch.

It was Fabian's watch. There was a spot of blood on it that he wiped away, but on the inside he found the planets and stars moving silently around the edge, as still as the night itself.

Rustling trees announced Mad-Eye's return.

'Looks like they didn't go quietly,' remarked Mad-Eye. 'I saw at least five when we first arrived.'

Lupin didn't immediately reply. Mad-Eye was used to death, used to bodies, and so was Lupin for that matter. Suddenly all Lupin could think about was the waste of life.

'They had a sister, didn't they?' he asked.

'Older sister, yeah...something like five or six nephews. Dumbledore'll probably want to tell 'em in person. Find anything useful?'

Lupin unclenched his fist to show him the watch.

'You'll want to mail that to their family,' Mad-Eye kids. He sighed and stepped forwards to stand over the bodies. 'Stupid kids. I told them to be more careful, and then they go ahead and get killed. We've already lost too many Order members.'

Lupin nodded in agreement.

Four members in two weeks.

In two _weeks_.

He wasn't sure how they were going to win. He wasn't even sure why Gideon and Fabian had been out here, why they hadn't simply disapparated to safety. Obviously there had been something here that served of some value or else they wouldn't have risked the journey, but whatever it was had died with them, in a bloody mess that glistened in the gaze of a mocking quarter-moon.


	2. Good Morning

**II. Good Morning**

_May 1996, Fifteen Years Later_

George opened his eyes and smiled softly. He could still feel the wind tugging at his red hair, the rush of adrenaline that prompted him to spin lively into the air, racing his twin off to worlds not yet explored. It was exciting and intimidating at all the same time, and somehow they'd made it. Somehow he woke up and he wasn't staring at the ceiling of the dorm, with the sound of Lee snoring softly in the other side of the room, and Harry Potter waking up from a vicious nightmare from the other side of the wall. Somehow he woke up and there was nothing but the astute silence he'd always dreamt of waking up to.

He debated whether or not to get up. With school presently out of the picture, he no longer had to abide by a regiment of unnecessary rules and regulations. From here on out, they made their own rules, and though the sunlight streaming through the slightly open window welcomed him, he didn't feel any inclination to return the gesture. He didn't have to. That was the whole point. It was liberating, a freedom he and Fred had longed for since they were eleven years old and crouching over a blank piece of parchment, attempting to unlock its secrets. There was no Umbridge, no teachers, no detentions. It was just him and Fred at Diagon Alley, where he could hear the sound of early morning shoppers passing underneath his window. All was well.

'Good MORNING, George Weasley!'

A heavy weight crashed onto his lower legs. George sat bolt upright in bed, and found that he was looking at a face exactly identical to himself, right down to the freckles covering his face and shoulders and untamed striking red hair.

'It has been exactly eight hours since we left school!' Fred announced. 'Tell me, how do you feel?'

'Pissed off – because you woke me up,' answered George.

'You were already awake.'

'I was daydreaming.'

'Well, while you were daydreaming and being very unproductive, I was being busy making some marginal use of the time. Get up! Lots to do and so little time to do it.'

Fred laughed jubilantly and fled from the room.

George scratched his head. Usually he was the one encouraging Fred to get to work, not the other way around. But, considering all circumstances, he wasn't surprised.

The room he'd woken to was unfamiliar. There were two beds filling the majority of the space, as well as a wardrobe magically expanded to fit both their wardrobes. It was undecorated except for the hideous pale green paint and an old rug that stank of moth balls. In the background was the distant sound of Fred in the kitchen.

Fred. Kitchen. Two more words he never expected to think in the same sentence. Come to think of it, the two of them had never really had to cook for themselves; but those days were behind them.

George rolled out of bed and half-walked, half-staggered into the kitchenette, where Fred was currently waging war with a frying pan. Literally. He was dueling with it like he was in the middle of a fencing match, the frying pan violently retaliating with its handle.

'C'mon, get on the stove!' Fred shouted at the frying pan. It responded by hitting him over the head with a dramatic clank. 'George, help me out here!'

'...Are you _loosing_ to a frying pan?' asked George.

'Hey, c'mon! Help me out!'

'Why?' George inquired. 'You seem to have things under control.'

'It's trying to kill me!'

'In self-defense. You were trying to kill it by trying to cook with it. I'd fight back, too.'

'Are you going to help me or are you just going to stand there?'

George debated this.

Finally, he drew out his wand and flicked it towards the pan. It immediately became innate and collapsed to the floor with an almighty crash, while his twin retreated to the kitchen table to sit there in defeat. George laughed and turned his attention to the stove, where – with a casual flick – breakfast began to make itself. He couldn't stop smiling. The mildest item made him want to burst out into laughter, for the sheer thrill of the night had not been lifted with a brief and restless sleep. He could still smell the horrific stench given off by an artificial swamp and still see the livid expression on the face of Dolores Umbridge, a memory he would treasure for the remainder of his life. What he would treasure even more was the bemused expression of Harry Potter when they retreated from Hogwarts, giving him a knowing wink on the way out.

One thing George knew he _wouldn't_ treasure was the letter he and Fred were expecting to receive this morning. He instinctively looked around for any sign of the post, but the counters were bare and the flat was occupied only by themselves and dusty furniture. It was rather pathetic, all in all. On the other hand, he had never anticipated that he and Fred would be residing in a castle rivaling that of Hogwarts anytime soon. That was something they'd have to earn. For now, he would tolerate the dust that he and Fred were literally eating out of. What mattered was that they'd found a place to be away from everyone and everything, where they could relish in their new found independence. George couldn't help but smile as he used to wand to quickly prepare a pathetic meal of burnt toast and eggs that – although bright yellow in the center – were black on the edges.

He and Fred sat in comfortable silence while they ate breakfast. He knew they were thinking the same thing. They were just _waiting_ for a scathing letter from their mother to arrive at any time and break the blissful imaginary state they had been living in since they left. Hogwarts was known for being prompt; no doubt Molly Weasley already knew of their little escapade. George tried to imagine her immediate reaction after she learned what happened. Her face would turn the lightest shade of pink, then go to red. If she was sitting, she'd slowly rise to her feet. If she was standing, she would slowly lower into the nearest chair. Someone would ask what was wrong and she'd casually hand them the letter, before proceeding on a tangent cursing her sons and all of their descendents. She didn't mean any of it, of course. Molly was the type of person who acted on the moment and in the moments after she found out what happened, she would be fuming. It wasn't a pretty sight: the twins had found themselves on the receiving end of this anger more than any of their siblings combined. Molly had been adamant about the twins completing their education and they'd just forfeited any chance to graduate. Strangely, George was perfectly okay with this – which was unusual, because he was the more studious of the twins and partially agreed with Molly's view that they finish school.

Fred, however, had fancied the idea of gallivanting out of their own, taking charge of their lives. Technically they weren't legally obligated to stay in school the moment they turned seventeen and Molly couldn't force them back. Technically. George had a serious internal debate at that moment.

'Mum or Umbridge?' he asked.

Fred looked at him thoughtfully, held tilted to the side and sliding a bit of waffle into his mouth.

'Good question,' Fred replied. 'Can't decide. I suppose facing a dragon isn't an option?'

'Dragons don't count. They're too easy. Look how Harry handled one. What's on the schedule today?'

'I say we start unpacking.'

'What about Mum?'

'Forget her. We'll wait until the howler gets here.'

'The howler hasn't come. Isn't like her.'

'Maybe we'll get lucky and she'll come in person.'

'She doesn't know we're here.'

'Let her sweat for a while, George, it's the least she deserves.'

George felt his mouth twist into a disapproving frown. 'Can we at least go over the numbers, then?'

'We don't need to.'

'Believe it or not, Fred, running a shop actually costs money. What do you expect to happen if we spend it all at once?'

'Get Harry to win another Triwizard Tournament?'

George frowned.

'...Wrong answer?' Fred stuffed the entirety of his egg into his cheek, giving him a comically bloated appearance. His next sentence was inaudible.

'I think the egg's trying to escape,' said George.

'I _said,_' Fred swallowed, 'how about you do the books, and I go unpack the boxes?'

'I'm not doing the books. You do them.'

'I've already established that you, dear brother, are much better suited to "books" than I am.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'You're the smart one. You figure it out.'

'I don't think there's – '

'Owl.'

'What?'

'_Owl_!'

Fred flicked his wand and the window behind George flew open, causing him to nearly topple backwards off his seat. He grasped the edge of the table to stabilize himself. An owl swooped low into the room, circled it once, and landed on the table next to George. It had an official, proper look to it as it extended its leg to reveal two letters attached to it. The familiar seal of Hogwarts was clearly stamped on it.

George couldn't help but laugh. He removed the letters and, the moment he was relieved of the weight, the owl flew out of the window. George opened the one addressed to him.

_Dear Mr. Weasley,_

_This letter is to serve as a notice that as of April 27, 1995, you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for misconduct, vandalism, and suspicion of treason against the Ministry of Magic. Your parents have been sent a copy of this letter, as well as a detailed report concerning the events that led up to your expulsion._

_Because of your misconduct, I, Dolores Umbridge, Headmistress of Hogwarts, have no choice but to permanently ban you from the grounds of Hogwarts. Doing so will be considered illegal trespassing and you will be placed under arrest and tried._

_If you wish to discuss this matter, the Headmistress of Hogwarts has decided that no such discussions will ever take place. This expulsion is final and cannot be challenged or revoked._

_Sincerely,_

_Dolores Umbridge_

_Headmistress of Hogwarts_

George looked up to see that Fred was reading his letter, which no doubt said the same thing of his. They met eyes.

The twins promptly cheered, high-fived each other, and held out their letters in pride.

'I think I'm going to frame this,' said George.

'We can hang these right behind the counter!' suggested Fred.

'Brilliant idea! It can be the first thing Mum sees when she comes in.'

'And, of course, she is definitely going to come in – if we have to drag her,' said Fred. 'Okay, let's go over what we have to do today.'

'Clean up,' answered George.

'Agreed. I don't think it would work to our benefit if our customers came in and saw all these boxes all over the place.'

George was quiet.

'Well, now that that's settled...do you remember what we talked about before we did this?' Fred asked.

'We talked about a lot of things, Fred.'

'About us joining the Order?'

'Oh, that.'

'What do you mean, "oh, that"?' Fred laughed.

'I don't know – the Order made it pretty clear that they have everything under control and don't need help from barely legal 17-year-old wizards.'

'Which is all the more reason to pester them about it again and again until they agree. Don't you want to get in on the action and help out our dear Harry Potter?'

'Of course I do. It's a matter of if the Order lets us.'

'Since when has that stopped us? The Order won't be able to resist our charm. I say we leave the mess until later and go check in with the Order.'

'What if the howler comes and we're not here for it?' George asked.

'Oh, Mum'll have plenty of chances to yell at us later.'

'You're right. She might actually send us a few howlers.'

The two of them got dressed and double checked to see that the shop was locked up. They decided to go to Grimmauld Place; if they wanted to show they meant business, they would forgo reporting to their mother. It was best to go to the secret meeting place of the Order of the Phoenix, where they had eavesdropped many times on secret meetings – meetings they so desperately wanted to be a part of. Finally George took his place beside his twin and surveyed the mess left by the boxes they'd been smuggling to this old building for the last few weeks, and he apparated with a final crack.

When his feet hit the ground, he and Fred found themselves on the edge of a rather pathetic street in London. It was unnaturally cool for this time of year, with an overcast sky and the threat of rain weighing high over their heads. Off in the distance, a dog barked in response to the crack. With that, the twins exchanged knowing glances and moved forwards to a run-down building rammed in between two Muggle homes.

George stopped at the steps to Grimmauld Place, examining the broken bricks, frail to the touch, and the murky London sky behind it. He could dimly hear the muffled sounds of the Muggles watching television in the neighbouring house in complete obliviousness of the severity of the wizarding situation.

'Okay?' Fred asked. As always, his confidence was contagious – and when he looked upon him, George felt his own conviction rise.

'Right behind you,' George confirmed.

'Oh, sure, let me go first.'

'It was your idea to set off the swamps.'

'You made it work.'

'Maybe we should get our story straight before we face the jury.'

'Got it. It was all Harry's fault.'

'That's right. Harry's responsible for everything. Good thinking, Fred.'

'I thought so.'

Fred ascended the steps to Grimmauld Place and pried open the door, followed shortly by his twin.

When they entered, George was immediately hit with the familiar stench of moth balls and dark magic. Well, he wasn't sure if dark magic even had a scent– but if it did, he had a feeling that that was the horrible stench coming from every dark corner of Grimmauld Place and he made sure to close the door behind him as silently as possible, in fear of disturbing some buried evil that remained. He kept a step behind Fred as they moved through the narrow hall and to the closed-off dining room and kitchen area, where the sound of low voices were echoing between the sleeping paintings. He could hear raised voices on the other side of the door.

George could picture the scene in his mind now. Molly was probably pacing in front of the fire place, her expression ranging between furious and worried. Arthur – probably at work. He couldn't hear his voice, at least. Sirius and Remus were there, both doing their best to console her without getting on her bad side while Mad-Eye Moody was rummaging in the wine cabinet for something he didn't intend to drink.

'Stupid impulsive fools!' Moody exclaimed. 'The last thing we need is that meandering bat-brained Umbridge connecting those two to the Order! It's bad enough they're even related to Arthur!'

'It was just a prank,' Sirius argued. 'Anyone who's ever known Fred and George probably expected this to happen.'

'I knew this would happen!' Molly exclaimed. 'I knew it from the moment I sent them on the train to Hogwarts! I should have stopped it when I had the chance – taught them from home! Plenty of parents do that nowadays! Sure, it might have been more of a handful, but at least I can tolerate their incessant practical jokes! At least there would've been no letters or suspensions or – !'

Fred pushed open the door.

George was right in his suspicions. Every person who had been speaking was right where he expected them to be. Mad-Eye, his signature eyeball rolling in his socket to face them and his gnarled face so twisted it was unreadable. Sirius, drawn and dark-haired, was at the table, casually leaning against it and obviously unconcerned about the whole situation. Remus Lupin – a werewolf with a disheveled appearance – was closest to Molly Weasley, who appropriately had flaming red hair, but was short and stout in comparison to the rest of her family.

'Now, before anyone says anything, it was all Ron's fault,' proclaimed Fred.

'I thought we agreed it was Harry's fault,' said George.

'Oh, right. Well, Ron was there, too.'

'Fred and George Weasley!' Molly roared. 'What have you _done_?'

'Didn't you get the letter?' George asked, without batting an eye.

'I got a letter, alright! Several letters! About your _arrogant, self-centered_ behaviour and – I am sorry, a _swamp_? Is it true you blew up half the school?!'

'That sounds like an exaggeration,' said George.

'I'm not exactly complaining,' countered Fred.

'This isn't a joke! You two seem to think that this is some eternal game you can keep playing, but the real world isn't about school-age pranks! You two have _endangered_ the order!'

'It's been building up to this for months!' Fred argued. He moved into the room, right up to Molly. 'I only feel sorry that we had to leave Ginny and Ron and all the rest behind for all the shit we've put up with!'

'You watch your tongue, Fred!' shouted Molly. Beat-red in the face, she moved to the opposite side of the table. 'Sit down! We're waiting for Dumbledore to get here and then we're going to discuss how we're going to get you back to Hogwarts!'

'Professor Dumbledore?' George repeated.

'So he really is here,' said Fred.

'But we're not going back,' George argued, though he complied and sat at the table. 'We already got letters saying that there was no possibility for the expulsion to be revoked – it's all done and taken care of, if you ask me. There's no reasoning with Umbridge.'

'There's only two more months left of school, anyways,' said Fred.

'I think it's a miracle we made it this far.'

'We've been planning our premature departure for months.'

'You...You _what_?' Molly exclaimed.

'You know, this wasn't exactly what we had in mind,' Fred confessed.

'But it'll do,' George finished.

'How can you talk to idly about your futures?!' Molly argued. 'What do you expect to do now that you've left school with no N.E.W.T.s - ?'

'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes,' the twins answered at once.

'Not this again! A joke shop is not - '

'Hate to disappoint, Mum, but you're a bit late on the uptake,' said Fred. 'We already have a premises.'

'You have a _what_?'

'It's opening in July,' George continued.

'It's opening _when_?!'

'We bought it before Christmas,' Fred answered. 'There was a vacancy in Diagon Alley.'

Amazingly, Sirius started to laugh. Right up until Molly shot him a condescending, disapproving expression and he immediately fell silent.

'You've been in Diagon Alley?' Remus asked.

'Sure, we have a flat above the shop,' Fred shrugged. 'We figured that if we were going to go through with this, we might as well have a place to take cover in...'

'Sorry, Mum, but we knew you wouldn't see we were serious about a joke shop until we were ready to open,' explained George. 'So we set up everything in absolute secrecy. Or, about as secret as you can make it with five nosy siblings and Harry Potter. Did we forget to mention that this is all Harry's fault?'

'How?' Sirius asked.

'Ask us in a few minutes so we can think about it,' laughed Fred.

'You went behind our backs!' hollered Molly. 'You betrayed our trust!'

'Mum, we've always made it clear that we were going to open a joke shop,' Fred argued. 'Well...at least we did after you found our notes...'

'Just you wait until Professor Dumbledore gets here!' Molly wagged her finger at them. 'I think he'll have something to say about the way you treat school property!' scolded Molly.

George disagreed. The first time he and Fred had met Professor Dumbledore was in their First Year, after a rather...involved prank. Dumbledore had politely expressed his disapproval, but seemed to find some level of amusement in it.

'First "Dumbledore's Army"!' exclaimed Molly. 'Now this! This is just getting worse and worse!'

'Dumbledore's Army was Harry's idea,' said Fred.

'No, it was Hermione's, actually,' George corrected him.

'Right, I forgot. Harry's responsible for everything, but Hermione thinks of everything...What does Ron do?'

'He's their mascot, of course.'

'Don't talk about your brother like that!' Molly put her hands on her hips. 'Oh, good, here comes Albus.'

Fred and George turned to face what she was looking at. The fireplace had suddenly light up in green, and emerging from the flames – the entrails of green fire still clinging to the ends of his robes – was a tall, elderly wizard with a white beard that fell to his ankles. This was Albus Dumbledore, the rightful headmaster of Hogwarts.

'I'm glad you're here,' said Molly. 'These two just decided to show themselves.'

'Ah, yes,' said Dumbledore.

'Then you can tell them what you really think of their blowing up half the school!' Molly gestured.

Dumbledore looked to the twins curiously. George mentally braced himself for a good scolding; after all, what headmaster would like to return to a school that was in ruins? (And he was quite certain – and confident – at this point that Dumbledore would return to Hogwarts, maybe not for a while, but the seat that rightfully belonged to him would be returned to his waiting hands.)

Instead, he chuckled slightly and the corners of his mouth turned upwards. 'Most impressive.'

'You think so, Professor?' Fred beamed. 'We strongly considered creating a tornado.'

'Oh, no, the swamp did quite nicely,' Dumbledore nodded approvingly. 'It leaves a smell, you see.'

'Professor Dumbledore!' Molly exclaimed.

'Now, Molly, I'm not encouraging – '

'_Albus_!' Molly stressed. 'They could be arrested

'As far as the Ministry of Magic is concerned, this will be a prank and since your sons were students at the time of the incident, there's legally nothing they can do to touch them, unless they return to Hogwarts while Umbridge is there.'

'It gets worse!' said Molly. 'They want to join the Order!'

'I don't see why not.'

'But the Order – '

'Needs more members.'

'Bill is recruiting!'

'But suitable recruits are scarce. This is dangerous work we are performing and anyone who isn't fully devoted to this cause will be a hindrance to all of us. Your sons have expressed a great interest to the Order and I do believe it is time for them to join us. They are of age.'

'But what about secrecy? If they realize that – '

'The Weasleys are already under suspicion.'

Molly Weasley. Emotional, intense. She let her emotions rule her actions and in this way she was terrifyingly similar to Fred. Before George's very eyes, she seemed to deflate and become an aspect of her that was calm and reasonable, and even she could see that there was nothing she could do to prevent him and George from embarking on a potentially dangerous journey. Hell, "potential" shouldn't have been used in that context. It was dangerous and George could almost feel his soul taking a cautious step closer to death, with Fred at his side.

'I lost my whole family during the first one,' Molly said softly, looking directly at them. 'I have nightmares about that night you came, Albus. So many nightmares. I don't want that to happen a second time. Promise me they'll be safe.'

'I can't promise that,' Albus said consolingly.

'Yes...Yes, I know.' Molly sighed. 'Alright.'

Fred and George grinned.

'But you have to swear to do everything Professor Dumbledore and Moody tell you to do!' Molly instructed. 'No games this time! This isn't school!'

'I agree with Molly,' Mad-Eye piped up. 'If you don't control yourselves – '

'Did you hear that, George?' Fred demanded. 'They think we can't control ourselves!'

'I'm offended!' George exclaimed. 'You should have a little more faith in us!'

'This is serious!' Mad-Eye intervened. 'Frankly I'm surprised you're agreeing to this, Albus!'

'Mr. and Mr. Weasley are remarkably talented inventors,' observed Dumbledore. 'Their extensive inventions could prove to be beneficial to the entire Order. The swamp in Hogwarts is only one example of their ingenuity. Suppose we assign Mr. and Mr. Weasley to create tools that can be used by members of the Order rather than taking a direct part in our activities.'

Fred and George's mouths opened at the same time.

'Until they are older and more experienced,' Dumbledore added.

Mad-Eye grumbled. 'Fine. But only because you said so.'

'We'll take what we can get,' said Fred.

'Yeah, anything to help,' agreed George.

The agreement actually sounded quite fair to George. Though he couldn't help but feel a bit guilty for allowing others to risk their lives while they were safe and sound, inventing objects that could help an Order member escape a tight situation or tools that could possibly be used for infiltration sounded like fun; maybe they could even sell these products in their shop to help regular wizards be prepared for the day when Lord Voldemort reared his ugly head.

'Excellent,' said Dumbledore. 'You had best return to Diagon Alley.'

'I'll be visiting you shortly to give to a lecture on being subtle!' cautioned Mad-Eye.

This coming from a wizard with one very fake eyeball.

'Get going,' ordered Mad-Eye. 'We all have better things to do than mollycoddle you two. And don't forget – I've got my eye on you!'

'Got it,' Fred said. 'Let's go, George.'

George rose to his feet and followed his twin back into the hall.

'That went better than I thought it would,' admitted Fred. 'We did it, George. We're in the Order!'

'Something tells me it isn't as simple as that,' said George, putting his head on the doorknob.

'It's a start. We didn't invent Skiving Snack Boxes over night, did we?'

George glanced over Fred's shoulder. Molly was lingering in the dining room doorway, her hands firmly wrapped in the fabric of her apron. She moved forwards when Fred turned to see what he was looking at.

'I have something to say to both of you,' said Molly.

'Honestly, Mum – ' Fred groaned.

'No, this is serious, and I want you to listen.'

Fred rolled his eyes, but slumped back against the wall.

'As you two know, your uncles, my brothers, Gideon and Fabian, fought and died in the First Wizarding War,' explained Molly.

It was a huge "duh" on Molly's part. George, himself, barely remembered his uncles – save that they were tall and as redheaded as any Weasley relative, with a sense of humour that rivaled himself and Fred. When he noticed their sudden disappearance all those years ago, he didn't fully comprehend that the two of them had died until much, much later, and he most certainly didn't know that they had died while actually fighting in the war until Voldemort's return last year.

'I lost a lot of good friends,' admitted Molly. 'The only reason I didn't fight alongside my brothers was because I had children – and their safety had to be my priority. But...in that last year, they started keeping a lot of secrets and not just about the Order; they kept secrets from Dumbledore, himself, and their deaths were...brutal. Nobody knew why they died. They weren't under orders from Dumbledore. They were out in the wood, all alone, and when...when they found them...it was bloody. So bloody.'

Her voice was surprisingly level and calm. This speech sounded rehearsed.

'Whatever secrets Gideon and Fabian kept, it killed them,' concluded Molly. 'This isn't the time for those types of secrets. This is the time where we all have to be on the same page. If you're going to be part of this, I want you two to be forward and frank about everything. I'm saying this not just because you went behind my back, but because you have always kept secrets. This isn't the time to only rely on each other; you have to trust us and we have to trust you. I've...I've always been most worried...About you two being inducted in the order. Bill and Charlie are cautious and careful; I know that they know when to run and save themselves. You two have always been the reckless ones. You must be careful. The Death Eaters _will_ kill you if you don't take precautions.'

'Yes, Mum,' George agreed.

'Fred?'

'Sure,' Fred drawled, uninterested and equally rehearsed.

'Are you taking me seriously, Frederick Weasley?'

'Yes, Mum,' Fred stood up a little straighter and nodded.

'If you promise me not to keep secrets, I won't have any objection to your being in the order,' said Molly.

'No secrets, got it,' Fred nodded impatiently. 'Piece of cake.'

Molly looked to her twin sons and there was a sort of forlorn aspiration behind her dark eyes, like she was reliving a distant memory unknown to George. Gently she leaned forwards and embraced them.

'Please don't be your uncles,' Molly said, to nobody in particular.

Looking over his mother's shoulder, George met eyes with Fred. Fred was making an attempt to look exasperated and impatient, but he knew that Fred was secretly taking Molly's every word to heart. She'd lost her whole family in the first war and in that locked gaze, they promised that she wouldn't loose her family in this one.


	3. Ollivander's and the Coat Pocket

**III. Ollivander's and the Coat Pocket**

The arrangement turned out to be exceptionally good for business, because it gave Fred and George an excuse to develop a more serious line for the shop. Initially Fred was resistant to the idea of a "defensive" line, but he warmed up to the idea and pitched numerous ideas over the course of the next few days. Among the ones that George liked the most was a spell or artifact which would immediately create a sickening darkness, allowing an individual to make a quick escape while his enemies stumbled around, blind and impossible to stop the assailant's escape.

With their (two) new jobs, George found they had little time or reason to leave Diagon Alley. Mostly they huddled at a window overlooking the street below, contemplating what sort of objects the Order could be in need of. Of course, there was a lot of goofing off and general delays in the form of creating stock for the shop's opening. Mostly there was just plain old goofing off. Who could concentrate on work when they were too busy relishing in their new found freedom? No longer did they have to concern themselves with peering over their shoulders to see if Snape was watching them from around the next corner – or Hermione, for that matter. No longer did they have to concern themselves with what Ron was getting himself into by being friends with the Boy Who Lived.

As it happened, the following period of time went by quickly and almost nothing remarkable happened. George would've hoped that he and Fred would have a ceremony or something, but apparently membership didn't stand on ceremony. The most they saw of the Order came from Moody, who stopped by periodically to investigate how the inventions were coming along, assess that their (defensive) spells were up to par, and lecture a good deal about remaining vigilant. Molly made them return to the Burrow for dinner at least three times a week, where they would sit in awkward silence with their parents. Sometimes Bill and Fleur were present, but more often they were absent, much like the rest of the Order seemed to be. Most of the time George forgot that they were even a part of it or that Voldemort was running amok around Britain, waving the killing curse at anyone who so much as opened their mouth to express their mild disapproval.

The upside was that within the month, the shop appeared relatively in order, save for a few empty shelves yet to be stocked and some loose fake wands which had literally gotten up and walked away.

It was on the last Saturday of May that George found himself on hands and knees, amongst the dust bunnies which leapt out of the way at his approach, and searching for the missing wands. He could hear Fred's heavy footsteps pounding in the flat upstairs. God knows what he was doing. George had the brief premonition that he was going to be the victim of a prank in the short future. With school behind them, they'd abruptly found themselves with fewer victims, so they'd taken to periodically pranking each other to supplement the loss.

George guessed that eventually they would adjust.

_I hope we'll adjust_, he added, absently examining the fingernails on his left hand. Somehow Fred had gotten them to turn purple and claimed that it would fade...in a few days. He wasn't sure if he trusted his word.

He shoved the length of his arm underneath the shelf when he heard the front door open. He sighed. As the door was supposed to be locked, that meant they had an unwelcome visitor in the form of a gnarled wizard.

'Hello, Moody,' he greeted without looking up. 'Here to lecture us again on constant vigilance?'

'Not precisely.'

That didn't sound like Moody.

George peered up.

He was staring in the shadow of a thin man, who was pleasantly familiar to him. He laughed.

'Hey, Lupin,' George propped himself up on his elbow. 'Fancy seeing you here.'

'And what are you doing?' Lupin questioned, smiling faintly.

'I was wondering what it was like to see things from under a shelf,' George got to his feet. 'What brings you to this neck of the woods? Has the Order decided to acknowledge our existence?'

'You know there's a reason for that, Fred.'

'George. Fred's the ugly one, remember?'

'Of course.'

'So what's new?'

'We were wondering if you've noticed any unusual people in Diagon Alley.'

'I've seen one.'

'Really?'

'Yes, and you're going to think this is crazy, but he looks _exactly_ like me.'

'Very funny. Seriously, though, have you seen anything?'

'Not really, just your usual prophetic nutcase. Fred might've; he's been hogging the windows. HEY! FRED!'

'WHAT?' Fred's voice echoed through the floorboards.

'Have you seen any weird people around the Alley lately?' George shouted.

'Yeah, and you're gonna think this is a bit off the wall, but he looks exactly like me!'

George winked at Lupin. 'Well, Lupin's here, and he honestly, seriously, wants to know if there's been anyone weird hanging around!'

There was a momentarily silence, followed by the distinct sound of him rushing through the flat and down the back stair case. Fred swung into the main room, but paused when he saw Lupin, his mouth open slightly, before his expression changed to one of annoyance and he leaned against the door frame.

'Well, I see the Order's finally decided to acknowledge our existence,' said Fred, arms folded.

'Have you see anyone strange lurking around?' questioned Lupin. 'Anyone from that list of Death Eaters we showed you?'

'I don't know,' Fred sighed. 'What with our shop almost ready to open and all, it's been quite difficult to remember specific details about specific people...Who are you, by the way? I don't seem to quite remember your name...'

'This is serious,' Lupin pressed. 'We've received intelligence suggesting that the Death Eaters are planning to attack Diagon Alley. We have people watching, but there are always cracks. If you've seen anything now is the time to tell us.'

George exchanged a look with Fred.

'Haven't seen any Death Eaters around,' shrugged Fred. 'I wish you'd told us that in the first place.'

'I shouldn't have to.'

Fred rolled his eyes. 'Quit it, Remus, you're starting to sound like Mad-Eye.'

'Mad-Eye is just doing his job.'

'We could do more if we were out _there_!' Fred complained.

'Yeah, we feel like we're just laying about,' added George. 'Mad-Eye's always lecturing about constant vigilance, but who needs if we're just going to be on the sidelines?'

'You don't have the experience,' said Lupin. 'Once you show Moody and Dumbledore that you're capable of following through with basic instructions, then they will start allowing you to accompany us in the field. This is dangerous work. If you are going to participate, then you must prove that you can handle responsibility and make the right judgement calls in dire situations. At school, you can repeatedly make mistakes without permanent consequence, but as members of the Order, any slight miscalculation could cost you your lives.'

'Unless you're Harry Potter,' pointed out George.

'In which case danger follows you around,' Fred nodded approvingly.

Lupin glared at him.

'Sorry, couldn't resist.'

'There's also the matter of –,' Lupin stopped short. 'What on Earth is going on out there?'

As Lupin had been talking, a new noise had slowly drifted into the shop. It consisted of a number of sharp screams followed by a low rumble that caused the ground underneath their feet to tremble. The three of them moved to the windows and peered out into the Alley. Several people sprinted past the shop, all moving in the same direction. Their presence was only countered by the brief appearance of several figures donned in dark cloaks.

None of them had to ask the other whether it would be appropriate to act. When they burst from the front door, an omnious black cloud was beginning to descend on the alley – and only over the alley. A localized storm was brewing over the cramped rooftops and the thunder rolling out from it certainly wasn't natural. However, neither of them felt the need to leap into action up until an abrupt crack rolled down the length of Diagon Alley, bringing with it a surge of dust and debris that flew up into the air in apparent celebration of the sudden activity. Lupin turned to the two of them. His face had gone stark white and he looked at them hesitantly.

Before Lupin could say anything, a nearby witch let out a shrill, startled scream and pointed upwards. Several people followed her gaze, including that of their small party.

Further down the street, an ominous green skull, a snake protruding from its teeth, hovered high above the shops.

'Well, that looks promising,' said George.

'Wands out and follow me,' directed Lupin. 'You do _exactly_ as I say, _when_ I say it. Clear?'

'Crystal clear,' confirmed George.

'Finally!' laughed Fred.

Their party moved forwards at a deliberately fast pace, shoving through the fleeing witches and wizards. They didn't get far when a sharp snap filled the air and sent a horrid, trembling sensation throughout George's body. He instinctively ducked as glass flew out from the nearest window and over his head. It was shortly followed by every window on the street shattering and spreading out over the now-abandoned cobblestone street, the skull above the shops only growing more potent. George now saw that it was hovering over the shop belonging to that of Ollivander.

Several individuals were emerging through the window. Three of them were donned in black cloaks, two of whom wore masks and the last who looked gleefully up to the skull hovering over the shop.

The first two were slinging an unconscious Ollivander between them.

'STUPEFY!' shouted Lupin.

The Death Eater without a mask got between the curse and Lupin's target – one of the ones carrying Ollivander. No sooner had he done so when the one without a mask pointed his wand at Ollivander. Lupin froze.

Just as he did so, two figures joined them. They most certainly did not freeze.

Moody overtook them with enough force that for a moment George instinctively prepared to beat back at him, only to come face to face with the greatest Auror of all time. That was evident when he strategically placed himself between their party and the Death Eaters, swinging his wand high overhead. A bright flash of light momentarily blinded George.

The Death Eater without a mask was defending his comrades as they edged away, and he most certainly was holding his own. One hand supported a massive shield that he contorted to absorb and deflect their various attacks. At best he looked bored - or perhaps even amused at their consistent efforts. Finally, he reached down into the sleeve of his cloak and grabbed a hold of something underneath.

'Get down!' barked Moody.

Moody grabbed both George and Fred by the back of their shirts and shoved them into the pavement. The sphere the Death Eater tossed quickly crossed the space between themselves and Rookwood, right towards Lupin, who raised his hands in defense.

There was no noise, but a pivoting blackness descended upon them.

The ground beneath George violently bulked and he suddenly inhaled a great amount of dust. Regardless, he forced himself to stumble to his feet, loosing track of all clear thought. He blindly stumbled forwards until he briefly sensed a number of individuals streaking past him. Their cloaks melded with the darkness, but their silver masks were as bright as day.

'GET THEM!' Moody's voice roared.

Normally George wasn't accustomed to taking orders, but this was one order he was glad to follow through with.

George homed in on the nearest Death Eater and rushed forwards, disregarding some vague shouts behind for him to watch where he was going. His opponent slipped into an alley. A block of stone materialized over head and slammed right in front of him, but George nimbly slipped between it and the building to pursue the wizard deeper into the bowels of Diagon Alley.

At the top of the stone staircase, George caught sight of his target. With a quick wave of his wand, the bricks closest to the Death Eater's head exploded and rained down on him, just enough to catch him off balance. He continued to spiral downwards, with George continually ripping his wand through the air in a desperate attempt to halt his advance. The Death Eaters were not deterred and it suddenly occurred to him that he did not hear any one else in his party – Order member or otherwise – joining him in the pursuit. He blocked out whatever momentarily feelings of panic he had, of seeing Fred collapse in the last explosion. The bottom of the staircase ascended towards him.

George instinctively rose a shield, just as a fiery spell came hurtling towards him. He diverted it with a shield, pushed off against the rough brick wall, and shoved himself into the lane ahead. It funneled him right towards the Death Eaters. Just as he thought he could catch them, the Death Eater in the back came to a halt.

'Go, I'll get rid of them!' the Death Eater roared at his companions. They didn't need any further prompting. In a flurry of black, they disappeared, along with the limp form of Ollivander.

The Death Eater turned on his heel and marched, unyielding, towards George. So sudden was his approach that George skidded to a halt. He was a hunter whose prey had just turned to face him, glaring him down with an penetrating stare that caused him to instinctively avert his gaze. With a drawn face strewn with freckles and long, black hair falling well past his shoulders, the Death Eater looked like someone who had seen hell itself and enjoyed the sight. The Death Eater was just coming level to a series of crates and boxes abandoned by their hiding owners.

'Incendio!' George ripped his wand sideways.

The crates lit aflame and flew into the Death Eater, who raised a free hand to divert one, then lift the remainder into the air. Guided by his wand, he tossed them back towards George. George skidded forwards to narrowly avoid being crushed, feeling the tips of his hair singe when coming into contact with the fire. A rush of heat came from behind him as the crates slammed into the cobblestone and evaporated.

When George turned, the Death Eater was mere inches from his face.

With a flick of his finger, his opponent caused his wand to go flying out of his hand.

'Boo!' exclaimed the Death Eater. He laughed at George's perplexed expression. 'History does have a funny away of repeating itself. I'm going to enjoy this...'

'ROOKWOOD!'

BANG.

The Death Eater – Rookwood, as it happened – went spiraling through the air. No sooner had he landed, however, when he rose back up, his black cloak elegantly following his every motion as he regained his grip on his wand and tossed out a series of violent spells that pelted through the air with such potency that George felt himself get knocked back. When he looked up, Moody was looming over him. The Auror tossed him his wand and he stood once more to resume the fight. At that point he suddenly didn't remember any of the offensive spells he'd been practicing over the last year alongside Fred and other determined students. It wasn't until Moody yelled at him to get into action that he remembered how to stupefy and lurched forwards to execute the frailest excuse for a stunning spell.

Moody grunted impatiently and swept George aside. He raised a shield between themselves and Rookwood, which didn't lurch at the Death Eater's following series of curses manifesting in elaborate, decorative flashes of multicoloured light. Moody twisted his foot forwards and shoved, one wand guiding the shield, the other supporting it. At once, the shield charm broke and rushed forwards at an alarming rate, dragging with it a mixture of dirt and debris. Rookwood was pushed back. Disregarding his wand, Rookwood raised his hand.

The cobblestone tiles before them exploded. Dust slung into his eyes. He started to violently cough, his eyes watering, and beyond the mess he could see Rookwood still standing. Someone called the Death Eater's name, like the voice of a demon beckoning back to the fires he'd emerged from. Then, with a noise that resembled a bird's wings pelting against the air as it took flight, he swung his black cloak around his body and disappeared into it.

A sudden silence descended on Diagon Alley.

With the exception of people desperately calling out to each other, there was nothing to be heard. Finally, George managed to extract the last of the dust and wiped his eyes to clear them. His wand was still gripped tightly in his sweaty palm. He was unharmed, though his limbs were shaking so badly that standing up in itself was a tremendous task. His first instinct was to search for his twin and he opened his mouth to call for him.

There wasn't any need. To his relief, Fred was right at his elbow within mere seconds. Black was smeared across his face but otherwise he looked uninjured. His ears were ringing, but it abruptly cleared when he heard Moody's rough voice emerging from the unsettled dust. Fred grabbed his arm.

'Are you okay?' Fred demanded. 'Are you hurt?'

'I'm fine,' answered George.

'Don't you _ever_ go rushing off like that again!'

'Blimey, Fred, you sound like Mum.'

'I meant to never go rushing off without me,' Fred corrected. 'Can't let you hog all the action, can we?'

Fred dragged him towards Moody.

'Where'd they go?' Fred demanded.

'Got away, of course,' Moody snarled. His eye was rolling around in its socket, no doubt scanning the area for any sign of the Death Eaters. 'Back to Ollivander's. Move!'

The three of them followed the trail George had initially entered by, until they found themselves back on the main street. It was covered with a thick layer of dust, while the frontal portion of Ollivander's place had seemingly collapsed. To George's surprise, Kingsley Shacklebolt stood amongst the ruins. He was a tall, dark wizard whose mere gaze was enough to combat their enemies.

'I was at Four Cauldrons when I heard the commotion,' explained Kingsley when he spotted them.

'Never mind, never mind,' Moody waved his hand dismissively. Then, in a lower voice. 'We shouldn't be seen together.'

'What happened?' Kingsley pressed.

'The Death Eaters grabbed Ollivander and disapparated, no thanks to these two. Weasleys, help me get Lupin into your flat before this all clears.'

'What are you – ?' George started.

That's when he caught sight of the state of Lupin.

Remus Lupin – their old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and habitual werewolf – was lying amongst the rubble. He could vaguely remember seeing something explode in his face and now he was on the ground, every part of his body shaking violently. His back arched dangerously when Moody made physical contact with his hand, followed by an eerie retching noise that sealed to conceal some demonic curse. George rushed forwards and grabbed Lupin's legs, while Moody urged their party towards the shop.

Fred rushed ahead of them and slammed into the front door to hold it open for their approach. It happened so suddenly that all the wizards and witches around them only seemed to vaguely register their presence, their eyes still fixated on the mess littering Diagon Alley. They briefly moved passed the shelves and stepped over products which had been knocked to the ground during the last explosion, reducing their hard work to little more than the usual pile of rubble George was so used to leaving in their wake. He didn't analyze it, though he did curse when he heard something snap underneath his ankle in their rush to get Lupin behind the counter.

George helped Moody drag the werewolf up to their flat. Lupin's face was ghastly pale and unfocused. When they burst in, they dragged him to the coffee table and unceremoniously dropped him down without much regard to worsening the injuries.

'Dammit all!' Moody swore.

With a flick of his wand, he aimed them towards the wounds, but the heavy, deep cuts George now realized littered his body only healed momentarily before opening again. His stomach lurched. It reminded him vaguely of the events last Christmas, when his father had been attacked by a snake.

'_Damn it all_! Stupid werewolf! Weasley – hold his legs down!'

'We can take him to St. Mungo's!' suggested George, sitting on top of Lupin's flailing legs.

He tried his best not to look directly at him. His eyes rolled violently into the back of his head, foam forming at the brim of his thin lips. Whatever life was left within him was being sucked away by some form of dark magic that seemed to swell and forcefully embrace him. Moody's expression hardened as he continued to wave his wand to no avail. Finally, he seemed to give up.

'We need sheets,' Moody snapped. 'Bed sheets, anything, now!'

Fred answered the call. He flew into the bedroom.

'And no St. Mungo's!' roared Moody. 'They'll ask way too many questions. It's bad enough that Kingsley and I were seen in public together! If he ends up being connected with the Order, a whole operation goes down the drain!'

'We could just tell them that – ,' George started.

'I said _no_!'

Fred returned. He was already tearing them apart and handing them to Moody. Moody forcefully ripped off Lupin's coat in the process and threw it at the other Weasley twin.

'This isn't any good,' Moody murmured as the pure white bed sheets became tainted with scarlet blood. He raised his wand a second time.

No healing incantation was emitted. A silvery animal – larger than any Patronus George had ever seen - leapt from the end and vanished through the nearest wall.

'I'm sending for the Order,' explained Moody. 'We can figure out how to treat him at one of our safe houses.'

For the next few minutes, there was relative silence except for the obligatory swear from Moody as he pressed down on Lupin's arm. But soon the fight started to leave him, and Lupin settled into a feverish state in which he appeared to be mostly dead. In fact, George would've thought so if it wasn't for his rugged, forced breathing. But his face went pale and blood and foam stopped pouring from his mouth, replaced with a silence so thick that he could've cut it with a knife.

Finally, he felt it was safe to speak.

'What happened?' George asked softly. 'Why take Ollivander?'

'I don't know yet, but in my experience, it's going to work against us,' said Moody.

'...What was that thing used on Lupin?'

'Obviously not something we want to be using,' snapped Moody. 'I bet it was one of Rookwood's. This has his handiwork all over it. Probably been planning this for months and we didn't pick up on anything.'

'That was that Death Eater, right? The one who tried to – .'

'Yes, yes, that was the bastard and you'd do well to stay away from him, especially if you can't even cast a stupid stunning spell.'

'I was – .'

'Being an idiot. Shut up.'

'Shouldn't we go look at Ollivander's shop to – .'

'Kingsley's got it. Don't worry about it.'

George's brows met at the centre of his forehead. He wished Moody would stop interrupting him.

'You two have to separate yourself from the scene of the crime,' continued Moody. 'It was bad enough you had to charge into the street like that like you were damn Aurors!'

'What, would you have rather we watched from the sidelines and do nothing?' demanded Fred.

'Yes.'

'Think again, Mad-Eye.'

A sudden, sharp cry of pain filled the flat. George instinctively strengthened his hold on Lupin, determined to stop the blood flow with his own will, but belatedly realized that the cry hadn't come from him.

'Holy mother of bloody _fuck_!'

'Fred?' George's head snapped up, because it was his twin who had cried out.

He released Lupin – much to Moody's discontent, because he grunted in annoyance – and hurried over to Fred. Blood was pouring down his arm.

'Fred?' George repeated desperately, trying to contain his rising alarm. 'What happened? Are you alright?'

'I'm fine, it's that bloody piece of _shit_!' Fred swore. To George's relief, he looked more annoyed than in pain. That generally meant he was just fine.

'What are you talkin' about, boy?' Moody demanded.

'Can't you see everything with that big bulging eye of yours?'

'This bulging eye of mine is focused on the squirming werewolf!'

'Fred, what happened?' George demanded a second time.

Fred drew in a shaky breath. 'I touched the bloody piece of paper and all of a sudden my hand started bleeding, that's all.'

'What paper?'

'The one that fell out of Lupin's coat pocket, that one!'

Fred vaguely gestured at a neatly folded piece, faded yellow piece of paper lying on the ground. As he did so, flecks of blood flew everywhere, he swore once more. Moody called for one of them to help, a response Fred answered after some obligatory sarcastic response George didn't catch. He was too fixated on the paper. Normally he wouldn't have thought too much of it, normally he would've turned away, if it wasn't for the fact that Fred's blood had been absorbed by the parchment and re-formulated to create a single phrase etched across the faded yellow backdrop. A phrase he tried to understand and comprehend the meaning of, written in elegant, swooping handwriting. Something that wasn't supposed to exist. Something that seemed to call out from some unprecedented world of mystery and fear.

_Fred Weasley follows the paper trail._

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

**A/N:** And now, for your obligatory reminder to review. I shall hug them all, good or bad.

Also, to confirm: Augustus Rookwood is the main antagonist for this story. Voldemort is such a ham! I don't think I could ever write him well, so he'll remain that mysterious figure who you kind of hear about as being this evil dark something but never seems to have a real importance in the main plot...or do anything of use...

Chapter will be edited in the future to punch out the typos.


	4. Long Dead

**IV. Long Dead**

On the very edge of the wood, at the end of a quaint path that led to a Muggle road, a little cottage stood without an owner. Utter silence had descended on the area, up until several sharp cracks broke through the aforementioned silence. George collapsed forwards, his balance having been altered with having to perform side-apparation with Remus Lupin being supported by him. No sooner had he landed when the others materialized around him. Moody was first, followed shortly by Fred, and then Dumbledore and Molly.

'Grab him and get him inside!' Molly instructed.

Fred headed the call. George lifted Lupin's upper body up while his twin grabbed his legs and they awkwardly crossed the distance between themselves and the front door. Fred's shoulder slammed into it and they entered. Hit with the stench of fresh parchment and oil wells, they entered into the cramped, dreary little cottage. Molly entered right after them and waved her wand to light up the darkened room.

George briefly took a look around. So this is where Lupin lived. After a lot of debate back at the shop, Dumbledore ultimately decided that the best place to take Lupin was to where he lived whenever he was not roaming the countryside as a raging beast, a place that had belonged to his family for four generations. (From his Muggle parentage.) George, himself, had been here about a week ago, but had never seen it the inside. It was surprisingly clean. The one-floored cottage was situated somewhere in the deepest reaches of the English forest, not a stone's throw away from one of the many quaint villages dotting the countryside. They'd just entered into the living room. With its heavy curtains and towering bookcases, it made the place seem even more crowdedthan it really was. After some ushering from Moody, they carried the unconscious Lupin into the bedroom just off the hall, where they dropped him onto the bed. Molly immediately descended on his limp, bloody body.

'Into the living room,' urged Moody. '_Now_.'

His tone was so dismissive that George didn't dare disobey and they emerged back into the living room, where Dumbledore was waiting.

'Now, tell me _precisely_ what happened,' said Dumbledore. 'Starting with...'

Dumbledore's voice trailed off. George quickly realized why.

There was a growing light in the fireplace.

A sudden gust of green flames exploded into Lupin's living room, causing George to stumble back and just about knock over a very old, stained-glass lamp. When the smoke cleared, however, to everyone surprise, standing before them was that of Sirius Black, looking like he'd just...well, like he'd just dragged himself out of a fireplace.

'I just heard!' exclaimed Sirius. 'What happened? Is he alright?!'

'Remus is very much alive and is in good hands,' assured Dumbledore.

'I want to see him,' he said through gritted teeth.

'It would be best if Molly was left undisturbed...unless _you_ would care to interrupt her?'

Sirius's shoulders visibly relaxed. 'Molly? No, I...no.'

'What are you doing here?' demanded Moody. 'You should be back at Grimmauld Place!'

'Shut up, old buzzard,' Sirius barked. 'I'll do what I damn well please. When I heard you were coming here instead of that old shack, I had to come.'

'And what, pray tell, are we to do should someone go there with an important message?'

'I told Kreacher to tell everyone where I was. Would someone mind telling me what the hell happened?'

'We were just establishing that,' explained Dumbledore. 'If Mr. and Mr. Weasley would care to start...'

George looked at Fred. Fred looked right back at him and nodded dismissively, before turning to the others and explaining what had transpired, starting at the shop. George interrupted now and then to fill in what had occurred from his perspective. He made sure to not leave out his encounter with the Death Eater known as Rookwood, and then ended when they took Lupin back to their shop.

Moody then accounted for his own whereabouts. He had come to Diagon Alley in the company of Lupin, but they had separated before the werewolf entered the shop. The Auror never explained why he hadn't joined Lupin. George's best guess was that Moody was about as short with the twins as they were with him, so he was attempting to keep interaction with them at a bare minimum, an arrangement that suited him just fine.

While they were talking, Dumbledore ventured into the kitchen and hastily prepared tea for the small group now settling down in Lupin's house. Sirius took a spot on an ornate lounge chair that growled in protest when he sat down, before he hit it on the armrest and it settled. He massaged his temples, his face stressed. George didn't blame him. From what he understood, Remus was one of the last true friends he had left – and to narrowly loose him like that was unacceptable. Meanwhile, the twins took their places on the couch and Moody leaned against the fireplace, examining a portrait of a stingy-looking witch and wizard above the mantelpiece. Dumbledore took what seemed to be a mandatory position in an antique chair befitting that of the headmaster of Hogwarts.

By the time the story was done and over with, the atmosphere had calmed and George's hands stopped trembling. He couldn't properly think about the attack. All he could think about was the insignificant sliver of paper baring Fred's name and containing the cryptic phrase. Moody had taken it just before they left the flat. When he'd seen read the message, his hands had gone stiff and his lips pursed, while his eye pivoted to focus on Fred.

It was all too strange.

'...And now, to the point,' Moody said, finishing his side of the tale. 'I didn't ask for you to come because Lupin was injured, Dumbledore.'

'Oh?' Dumbledore didn't look especially surprised.

'No. Something odd happened back at the flat.'

'With Lupin?' Sirius sat bolt upright.

'No, you mutt,' snapped Moody. He had the paper in hand. 'Lupin was bleeding badly, so I took off his coat and handed it to one of those two. A piece of paper fell out of this – _this_ paper, here – and when Weasley touched it, a message appeared.'

'In blood,' added Fred.

'It faded the moment I picked it up,' Moody held out the sliver of paper and handed it over to Dumbledore. 'It said "Fred Weasley follows the paper trail".'

Dumbledore pushed up his half-moon spectacles. 'Most curious.'

'What's that supposed to mean, anyways?' murmured Fred.

'No idea,' said George.

'All the more reason to find out.'

'Could be a code for something. But why would it specifically refer to you?'

Fred shrugged.

'Let us examine this more closely,' said Dumbledore.

Dumbledore rose to his feet. He scanned the room before his eyes rested on what appeared to be a poor excuse for an alchemical set positioned in the corner, complete with a large, mounted magnifying glass. In two long strides he crossed the room, Moody hovering at his shoulder the whole time.

Fred was still holding his wrist. The bleeding had stopped and left behind a faint redness at his fingertips, like he'd just touched the surface of a hot stove. Without asking for permission, George took his twin's hand and examined it carefully, however there was no visible sign of a scratch or any other indication of bleeding.

'By all accounts,' Dumbledore spoke. His voice echoed throughout the whole room, instantly grabbing the attention of everyone within the vicinity. 'This appears to be a perfectly ordinary...perfectly unremarkable...piece of paper.'

'Yeah, except it's a bit bloodthirsty,' said Fred. 'I mean, I know I used to say that homework would be the death of me, but I never thought that it would try to actively kill me.'

'Dammit, this could be important!' Moody argued. 'If this thing is cursed – .'

'I don't believe that this is cursed,' said Dumbledore. 'It is obviously a message intended for a certain individual. However, I am not certainly convinced that it was meant for Mr. Weasley.'

'What makes you say that?' Sirius questioned.

Dumbledore moved over to the twins. He held the note out towards George.

'Mr. Weasley, would you be so kind as to touch this?' Dumbledore questioned.

'Touch?' George repeated stupidly.

'If you please. Just a light touch.'

'Alright.'

George held out his fingers and lightly brushed the surface. The moment he did so, he felt as though a number of needles drove into his flesh. He let out a surprised gasp and retracted his hand, holding it out to show the fresh layer of blood emerging from his fingertips. Meanwhile, the blood on the paper hesitantly reformed to make another phrase.

_George Weasley follows the paper trail_.

'Interesting,' remarked Dumbledore.

'It said Fred's name before,' pointed out George.

'That's right, I saw it myself,' Moody agreed.

Molly emerged into the living room. Fresh blood coated her hands, which she was syphoning away with her wand.

'How is Remus?' Dumbledore inquired just as Sirius opened his mouth.

'I think he'll be alright,' said Molly. 'I don't know if I did much good, but the wounds healed.'

'Is he conscious?' demanded Moody.

'It's best to leave him be,' Molly snapped. She rounded on the twins, waving her finger. 'I told you two to stay out of the fighting!'

'Actually, you never specifically instructed us not to fight in defense of our lives,' Fred pointed out.

'We need to talk to Lupin,' pressed Moody. 'Only he can shed some light on this.'

Molly appeared hesitant.

'Very well, but not all at once,' agreed Molly.

Dumbledore and Moody wasted no time in heading into the bedroom, while everyone else hovered by the doorway to listen in.

'Don't get up,' Dumbledore insisted upon entry. 'Do you remember what happened?'

'Vividly,' Remus's voice was barely audible.

Dumbledore briefly explained the situation, his voice adopting the tone of someone on the bedside of a dying man.

'It fell out of your coat pocket,' Moody elaborated when Dumbledore was finished explaining the circumstances. 'We need to know where it came from.'

'I have no idea,' admitted Lupin. 'I'm sorry, I wish I did.'

'Well, where did you get the coat?' Moody demanded.

'I don't know – it's old. I've had it since before the first war.'

'Not good enough!'

'Alastor, please,' Dumbledore urged.

There was the sound of a fist slamming down on a table. Moody, no doubt. 'Weasley just about bled out when he touched it! I know what I saw. "Fred Weasley follows the paper trail".'

'It said what?' Lupin questioned.

'"Fred Weasley follows the paper trail".'

'...Paper trail...Wait!'

'What?' Moody asked.

'Paper trail,' Lupin repeated softly. '...Gideon...'

Molly's face visibly paled.

'Don't you remember, Moody?' Lupin exclaimed. '"Follow the paper trail" - that was the code phrase we used for Gideon and Fabian. I remember! I took that out of Gideon's pocket the night he died. I checked it for a message, but I couldn't find anything and put it back in there for safe keeping. It's probably been in my pocket since that night.'

'Code phrase?' Molly leaned into the room and entered without invitation. 'What are you talking about?'

Another pause.

'You do remember those last few years, Molly, yes?' Moody asked.

'I remember I barely saw them.'

'Because they were being intensely hunted by the Death Eaters, they had to flee across the countryside. Daresay they never slept in the same place twice. However, they were also performing great services for the Order and had to convey information to us. Meeting in person was too much of a risk for all people involved, so they created something they called the "paper trail". For those last two years, they had a strict schedule of places where they would hide for in excess of three days before moving to the next location, before rotating and starting the routine all over again. We could never contact them directly, but they left behind clues and messages at drop off points that a member of the Order would then go to retrieve.'

'Whenever Gideon and Fabian wanted to get in direct contact with the Order, they would leave a note saying "follow the paper trail", meaning that they would be present at the next hideout and that a member of the Order should go there immediately to meet with them face-to-face,' explained Lupin. 'The night they died...Moody and I were supposed to be meeting them outside of a village called Polecroft...That's how we ended up stumbling into the ambush.'

'Unfortunately we could never find their hideout,' said Moody. 'Fidelius Charm, you see. They would always meet us on the outside and one of them was the Secret Keeper, so the hideout they were in that night is lost forever.'

George imagined Dumbledore stroking his thick beard thoughtfully.

'I have a theory about this message,' said Dumbledore. 'I believe this was charmed to respond to members of the Prewett bloodline. And I also believe that the Prewetts are attempting to alert us of a dire situation posthumously.'

'Not possible,' contradicted Moody. 'We tied up all loose ends when the Prewetts died. There's nothing left to be found.'

'But you are forgetting the level of secrecy they maintained during the last two years of their lives.'

'Yeah, and those secrets nearly killed the Order!'

'Not this argument...' Lupin sighed.

'Who's to say they didn't betray us?' demanded Moody. 'What evidence is there against it, hm?'

'It was established that it was Peter,' said Lupin. 'It had always been Peter, right from the start.

'We always suspected there was more than one traitor.'

'Shut up,' Sirius exclaimed sharply. He also stormed into the bedroom, his face livid. 'For years you all thought I betrayed you. Did that turn out to be true? Back then I had no one to speak for me...No one...Nobody believe that I was innocent. Well, those little bastards may be dead, but I'll speak up for them – and I'm confident that they didn't and wouldn't betray _anyone_.'

'I agree with Sirius,' said Dumbledore. 'As I said prior to your accusation, Alastor, it is likely that Gideon and Fabian left behind this message in the event of their deaths. They summoned the Order that night to speak about an urgent matter that they never had the opportunity to elaborate on.'

Moody grunted. 'It's probably not even relevant anymore. Voldemort was beaten the first time. This is an entirely different war.'

'Every piece of information could prove to be valuable,' pointed out Dumbledore. 'Plus, in the event that it _is_ valuable, we cannot risk it getting into the hands of Lord Voldemort.'

'So that's what we got to do, then?' said Lupin. 'We have to locate their final hideout in Polecroft.'

'Yes, which is far easier said than done,' agreed Dumbledore. 'With the Prewetts dead, there is no possible way to know where it is located precisely. In some ways it works to our advantage, for the Death Eaters will not know where it is, either.'

'...Unless Rookwood knows...'

'Rookwood?' spat Moody. 'Bah!'

'_Augustus_ Rookwood?' asked Molly. 'What does he have to do with this?'

'He was damn well obsessed with your brothers! What a pain in the arse.'

'First I've heard of it.'

'Of course it is. It was their own private little war, like a game of chase between the three of them. Rookwood took a certain "liking" to the Prewetts because they were the only two wizards to escape his infamous traps and live without post-traumatic stress disorder. He started hounding them relentlessly, to the point where he was a large reason they decided to remain mobile. Matter of fact, it wouldn't surprise me if Rookwood found out where their hideout was in Polecroft and led Dolohov and the others right to it. He's probably the whole reason they're dead.'

'So, we just kidnap Rookwood and get Snape to do his little mind trick on him?' said Sirius. 'Easy enough.'

'I do hope that was sarcasm, Black.'

'It was sarcasm...Damn, I think there's a reason why your surname is "Moody"...'

'Watch it.'

'But if that's the case, that means that any efforts to find the hideout would be useless, because it would've been trashed already.'

'There is no way we can guarantee that until we find it, ourselves,' said Dumbledore. 'Alastor, you and I should use our contacts to attempt to find a solution. I have never heard of an instance where the Fidelius Charm was broken, but we must make an effort.'

'Fine, but I still think this is a waste of time,' said Moody.

'...However...there may be an easier way...' continued Dumbledore.

The entire party filed back into the living room. Everyone watched the Headmaster of Hogwarts pace in a wide circle before stopping in front of the twins.

'I would think that this would be the appropriate time to put your talents to use,' explained Dumbledore. 'Do you believe that you could break a Fidelius Charm?'

'With all due respect, sir,' George folded his arms. 'Are you crazy?'

'That's a pretty tall order,' noted Fred. 'But not impossible.'

'Last I checked, we've never done _that_ before.'

'First time for everything. How hard could it be?'

'Famous last words.'

'This is insane,' Moody intervened. 'What makes you think they could break a Fidelius Charm? You can't just _break_ magic!'

'I have the fullest confidence that they are capable of achieving such a monumental task, should they devote their concentration to it,' pressed Dumbledore. 'However, it would still be best to investigate other possible means of locating the Prewetts' final hideout. Alastor, perhaps you should take Nymphadora to Polecroft and investigate the area. It may be that the Prewetts entrusted other individuals with the location.'

'You're not talking about the Muggles, are you?' demanded Moody.

'Would you care to prematurely exclude the possibility?'

'...No, they were always a bit insane, anyways...What about Ollivander?'

Dumbledore's eyes were downcast. 'There is little we can do for him now. I wish that we had been better prepared. All the same, we'll have members of the Order search for possible places where he could be.'

'Got it, just don't expect miracles.'

Funny. From George's perspective, they were going to need a miracle.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Over the course of the next few weeks, the shop continued to regain what shape it had lost during the attack on Ollivander's. Moody continued to appear time and time again, his disposition harsher each time. It was as though the greater resistance the Order encountered, the more determined Moody was to counteract it. Dumbledore meanwhile, entrusted the twins with the note, which Molly determined to be from Gideon based on the handwriting.

More often than not the twins completely forgot about its existence and meandered about their business. If anything, Ollivander's kidnapping was being treated as though it was the fault of a selects few individuals. The two of them didn't even see anything in the Daily Prophet until about two weeks later, in the middle of June, when it was so hot that George had created a spell to cool the interior of the flat during daylight hours.

George was sitting at a desk they'd placed at the window, his feet resting on the table and fussing with a Remembrall. The window just outside was open and Fred was on the roof, his wand raised as he levitated the shop's new sign into position. They'd spent the entire afternoon arguing about the colour scheme before they finally settled on magenta and gold. George only looked up once, when Fred delivered a brutal kick to the sign to make it go crooked, before casting a permanent sticking charm to keep it in place.

For the most part, he was trying to ignore him. Fred had had a brilliant idea the other day. He'd suggested that while they might not be able to directly break a Fidelius Charm, they could at least figure out the general location of the long-lost hideout. He suggested that they should try to charm a Remembrall so that instead of reminding the owner that they were forgetting something, it should tell the owner that there was something hidden nearby. Of course, when Fred said that "they" should try to modify the Remembrall, he really meant that "George" should try to modify the Remembrall.

'What do you think, George?' Fred asked, leaning into the window.

George carefully placed the Remembrall on a nearby stand and climbed out the window alongside his twin to examine the results. In contrast to the remainder of Diagon Alley, George took note that their crooked sign was the brightest and most visible, for years of service hadn't yet faded the paint.

'How does it look?' Fred asked.

'Perfect!' George beamed.

'This is it,' Fred smiled. 'Two day mark. Two days from now, we'll be living like _kings_.'

'Mum will have to apologize,' said George.

'Mum apologize?'

'You're right, that's hoping for too much.'

George climbed back into the flat and jumped to the floor, followed by Fred. Just as Fred came in, his foot knocked against the stand holding the Remembrall.

George performed a heroic dive to grab it before it hit the floor, cradling the cool glass in his hands.

'Good grief, George, we have a thousand of those lying around,' said Fred. 'I don't see why we needed to buy three crates of them, anyways.'

'This is the first one that I think might actually work,' said George.

Fred shook his head and moved to the kitchen table. The Daily Prophet lay open, on the fifth page, where a small, significant article reported the disappearance of the old wand-maker. Fred's face contorted into an ugly expression before he crumpled it up and tossed it across the room.

'Idiots,' Fred grumbled. 'This is going to come back and get them.'

'Funny how they forgot about it until now,' said George.

'I mean, come on, _two weeks_? More than enough time for people to realize Ollivander's gone and only now does the Prophet take notice of it!'

'Could be worse.'

'How?'

'Give me a minute, I'll think of something.'

Just as George held the Remembrall in his hand, it flashed a brilliant, bright white light.

'According to this, there's something hidden around here,' said George, showing Fred the results.

'No surprise there,' said Fred. 'So it's actually working, now?'

'Yeah, I just have to concentrate the magic so it will only detect things like hidden passageways, concealment charms, people who are invisible, and – if I perform it correctly – secrets and lies...Exactly how much of that go over your head?'

'Did you say something?' Fred inquired.

'Nothing, go back to your brooding,' urged George.

George just finished this sentence when he peered out the window to see that someone was just walking up to the front door of the shop. The two of them heard the distinct sound of someone pounding on the wood.

'Who the hell could that be?' Fred demanded. 'Not Moody, again.'

'No, Moody just apparates in without invitation, remember?' George reminded him. He rose from his seat. 'I'll check it out.'

'Take your wand.'

George headed down the rear stairwell just as the pounding resumed again. The shop downstairs was considerably darker than he was entirely comfortable with. He quickly moved to the doorway, wand raised, but keeping his footsteps light so anyone on the other side wouldn't be able to detect his approach. However, he immediately lowered it when he saw who it was trying to peer through the darkened window pane.

He opened the door and came face-to-face with the last person he'd expected. He'd expected Moody, he'd expected his mother, and he might have even been able to withdraw his surprise if it was Bill. But it wasn't any of those people, because standing on their doorstep was Angelina Johnson.

'Angelina?' George blinked.

'Hello, George,' Angelina smiled. She was a tall witch, with a broad grin and long, dark hair braided down her back.

'When did – how did you know I was George?' George asked. He couldn't help but think back to previous occasions when Angelina had accidentally mistaken him for Fred, resulting in rather embarrassing situations and one very red-faced Fred.

'Fred would've tried to kiss me,' elaborated Angelina.

'School isn't out yet. Why are you here?'

'Nice to see you, too. Are you going to leave me out standing in the cold or are you going to invite me in?'

George was about to remark that it was actually pleasantly warm out that night, but shook his head, closed his mouth, and stepped aside to allow Angelina to enter.

'Oh, my goodness,' Angelina peered around. 'You got all this done in just those few weeks?'

'You mean _I_ got it all done. Fred's just been laying about and letting me do all the heavy lifting. He's upstairs, anyways.'

Angelina rushed to the stairwell before George and stormed up, her steps surprisingly light, but determined. They both entered one after another.

'Angelina!' Fred jumped up from the couch. He came forwards, arms open.

Angelina put up her hand. He stopped short.

The girl who Fred had never shut up about for two years straight punched him in the arm, then planted a kiss directly on the lips. George rolled his eyes and return to the desk where he'd left the Remembrall.

'Blimey, get a room,' George moaned.

'Oh, lighten up!' Fred laughed. 'You're just jealous because you _never_ had a girlfriend _all_ through school!'

'I went out with girls,' George felt heat rushing up to his face.

'Oh, like that date with Katie...?' Angelina chuckled.

'You said we wouldn't talk about that anymore,' George murmured.

'I lied,' Angelina ruffled his hair and shoved his head forwards playfully.

'What are you doing here?' Fred asked. 'School's not out yet.'

'You think I didn't learn a thing about sneaking out of school from hanging around you two?' Angelina winked.

'But Umbridge - .'

'Oh, I heard a rumour Umbridge disappeared. Something about centaurs...'

'Are you serious?' Fred laughed.

'Well, I was going a bit crazy, so I decided to risk the trip.'

'You are serious! See, George, there was nothing to worry about!'

'All the same I have to get back for the morning, but otherwise I got all night.'

'Just the two of us?' Fred asked.

'Sure. You look awfully busy, though...'

'Are you kidding?' Fred's grin broadened. 'See you, George!'

'Wait a minute, where exactly are you going?' George twisted in his chair.

Fred's hand was on the doorknob, a light jacket folded over one arm and the other over Angelina's shoulder. He visibly rolled his eyes.

'Leaky Cauldron?' Fred said. It was a question.

'Was that so difficult?' George asked.

'You'd be surprised. See you!'

And just like that, the door slammed, and Fred Weasley and Angelina Johnson were gone. George pulled back the curtain to watch the two take off down the Alley, hand-in-hand, and right past the boarded up front of Ollivander's shop.

George spent the remainder of the evening combining various charms on the Remembrall, trying to increase the potency of the detection spell and narrow it to only certain objects, though the magic was tricky, in itself. He'd already wasted too many and he was surprised how expensive those little bloody things were. It was just past midnight when he finally surrendered to fatigue and went to bed, while the Remembrall finally stopped flashing and remained, inert, on the stand.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Within the confines of George's mind, he could hear something scream – neither man or woman, human or demon. Several pairs of elongated fingers reached up from the end of the bed and snatched his ankles. They were freezing cold to the touch.

Letting out a sharp gasp, George woke himself up.

Seconds after regaining consciousness, he could still feel something gripping his ankles. He shot, bolt upright in bed to brush them off. The feeling died down rather quickly, but the perturbing sensation of a dream within a dream lingered with him. The darkness outside his window gripped the brick buildings that bordered the view. Rolling over in bed, George snatched a pocket watch. He briefly wondered whether it was his or if it was Fred's, but the planets and stars on the inside didn't provide any elaboration on the exact time. He scowled and threw it towards the only other clock available to him. Three in the morning.

Next, his eyes travelled to the other bed – the one closest to the window. It was untouched.

Not again.

He returned to the main room, briefly looking at the kitchenette and the old furniture they'd set up. George heavily debated whether or not he should go back to bed; it was highly likely that Fred wouldn't be back until sunrise and he may as well catch a few hours sleep before his twin woke him up again. That's usually how it went. Fred was so loud that he was surprised that people from across the pond weren't complaining about the racket he made. But instead, George peered absently past the darkened rooftops illuminated by the golden street lamps lining the dusky Diagon Alley.

Before he could fully explore a new train of thought, he heard the front door to the shop slam. He listened to someone pounding up the back stairwell and burst open the door.

Fred had a suspiciously large grin on his face when he entered.

'That took you long enough,' George said, sitting back down at the work space. He drew out his wand and examined the surface of the Remembrall in greater detail.

'Yeah, Angelina and I went to the..."movies",' Fred laughed.

'You...You went into the Muggle – ?'

'Why not? Angelina knows her way around well enough; her dad's a Muggle, you know.'

'You said you'd be at the Leaky Cauldron.'

'We were. We went _through_ the Leaky Cauldron.' Fred sighed contently and collapsed on the couch. 'Great time, though.'

'I bet it was,' George murmured.

Fred sighed, satisfied, then abruptly sat up.

'Are you gay?' Fred asked.

'Am I _what_?' George half-laughed, half-gasped, and felt heat rush up to his face.

He should be used to this. Whenever Fred had an idea, concerning _anything_, he didn't really stop to think whether or not it would be really appropriate to propose said idea. He just threw things out there and, once more, George had been left to deal with the consequences.

'Are you gay?' Fred repeated.

'Honestly, Fred – .'

'Well?'

'_No_.'

'Well, why don't you ever get a date?'

'Why are you complaining? More girls for you, right?'

'You never want to do anything fun.'

'I don't know, Fred, I've never really thought it was important...'

'I could probably go find you a girl.'

'I don't need one. Just drop it.'

'You sure? I have a whole list of extended female acquaintances...'

'Fred, I'll be clear,' George put down the Remembrall and counted off his fingers. 'I'm not gay, I'm not interested in dates at the moment, and unlike you, I can actually think beyond extended female acquaintances. You're probably exaggerating about the number of girls you know, anyways, aren't you?'

Fred blinked, looking a bit guilty. '...Yes.'

George huffed and shook his head. 'I'm surprised you went out with Angelina.'

'Why not? I think I might marry her, someday.'

George laughed, then lifted up the Remembrall.

He lowered it.

'I thought you were going to marry Celestina Warbeck?' George remembered.

'I was only twelve when I said that,' Fred's face flushed red.

'And what about that Verity girl?' George laughed. 'You were flirting with her like something awful when we were interviewing her for that job. I should've cast a binding spell on you right then and there.'

'Oh, that's nothing serious,' said Fred.

'As a matter of fact, I've seen you flirting with a whole bunch of girls since we go here. I reckon I should've told Angelina all about it.'

'You wouldn't.'

'I might.'

'Angelina's...well, she's Angelina. She's different.'

George shrugged and averted his gaze, looking back into the Remembrall. It was flashing again, while Fred rambled on about everything Angelina had told him during the course of the evening, from Umbridge's regime, to the good old days, and every irrelevant detail to the way Angelina drank her Firewhiskey, to the way they jinxed the Muggles at the movie theatre to gain free entry. None of it surprised George, though there were a few moments in the tale when George stood on the cusp of feeling the slightest flicker of shock. Fred Weasley continued to shock the people around him.

It was as he was staring out the window once more that an unnatural chill ran up the length of George's spine and he narrowed his eyes slightly, wondering if Fred was about to pull another prank. On the surface of the window pane, he could see a vague reflection of the room behind him. Fred was rising to his feet and there was someone standing just over his shoulder.

George let out a surprised gasp and swung around. He came face-to-face with Mad-Eye Moody.

'Not paying attention as usual, I see,' growled Moody. 'What've I told you about constant vigilance?'

'Hey, Moody,' said George. 'You're getting better. I didn't even hear you apparate in.'

'Don't always need to, boy. Talk quickly because I don't have much time. Have you made any progress on the Fidelius Charm?'

'Have you?' countered Fred.

Moody grumbled. 'Tonks and I are still questioning the villagers, but nothing so far. Your turn.'

'We came up with a brilliant idea,' said George. George showed Moody the Remembrall. 'It's just your run of the mill Remembrall, right?'

'Wrong!' Fred exclaimed. 'I charmed it – .'

'You mean _I_ charmed it,' corrected George. 'I did all the work!'

'We charmed it so it detects anything hidden.'

'Such as the Fidelius Charm, any concealment spells, or even secrets.'

'How's that supposed to help us find the hideout?' demanded Moody.

'Well, we haven't actually quite figured out how to break a Fidelius Charm yet,' Fred scratched the back of his head. 'But at the very least, we can find out the general area where the hideout might be.'

Moody took the Remembrall in his hand, studying it with his pivoting eye. 'This useless! This is why we have Secret Sensors and Sneakoscopes!'

'Can Secret Sensors and Sneakoscopes detect Fidelius Charms?' asked George. 'Can Secret Sensors and Sneakoscopes fit into your back pocket?'

'...Does it make any noise?'

'Nope, that's the best part. Totally silent.'

'...Eh, it's a start...You can test to see if this thing works tonight. The Order needs results.'

'C'mon, Moody, we got two days until opening!' complained Fred. 'We need this time to finish inventory and stocking the shelves!'

'Are you wizards or what?! Just wave your wands around and it'll be done in no time! Not to mention finding this is way more important than your stupid jokes!'

'Jokes that sell, there's a difference, mate,' said George.

'Not to me, there isn't,' said Moody. 'I'll meet you in woods outside of Polecroft in a few hours. I trust you remember how to get there?'

'Why so early?' Fred laughed.

'Hard to explain. Needless to say, when you find something, don't leave the scene.'

'Sure,' George said.

'And don't be late!'

'Us? Late?'

The bedroom door burst open. George fumbled with the Remembrall as Moody tossed it back to him. Kingsley stepped in.

'Here you are,' said Kingsley. 'We should go. Dumbledore is waiting.'

'Please, why don't you all come in!' Fred exclaimed. 'I mean, seriously, what if we weren't decent?'

Kingsley looked at Fred quite oddly before turning back to Moody. '...Didn't you tell him anything?'

'They shouldn't know until after it's done and over with,' said Moody. 'They'll just get in the way.'

'Until _what's_ done and over with?' asked George. He was beginning to get the impression that he was missing out on some crucial piece of information Moody had intended to withhold from him. 'What's going on?'

'No time to explain,' Moody said quickly. 'Just do as I say.'

'Alastor,' stressed Kingsley. 'They should know.'

'They'll get in the way!'

'Fine, then I will tell him,' decided Kingsley. He turned to the twins. 'There is a possibility that Harry Potter has been lured into a trap.'

'As if that's new!' chortled Fred.

'Mr. Weasley, you understand that if Mr. Potter has been lured into a trap, then your brother – his closest friend – has most certainly been dragged into it as well? Our information is limited, but we received a message earlier which indicated that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has tricked Mr. Potter into going to the Ministry of Magic.'

'Why would You-Know-Who want to lure Harry there?'

'I can't say. As I said, information is limited, but it is with the utmost certainty that the Death Eaters are there with the full intention of killing Mr. Potter and anyone in his company.'

George wasn't sure why he was surprised. It seemed that every year Harry managed to get into a near-death situation, and subsequently everyone around him was dragged into it, as well. Slowly he rose to his feet and saw his own shock and fear reflected in Fred's face.

'We want to come,' George said.

'I told you so!' Moody exclaimed. 'This is why I said we should wait to tell any of the Weasleys!'

'You said it's likely Ron's there, too!' Fred protested. 'What, you're saying we should just sit here, not knowing?!'

'You should be focusing on other duties for the Order!' said Moody. 'The Order doesn't really know anything more at this point!'

'You must trust us – Dumbledore is leading us to find out what is going on,' Kingsley continued unflinchingly. 'In the meantime, it is in the best interests of everyone involved that you and your brother remain here.'

'That isn't fair!' George stormed forwards. His voice wavered only slightly, but he willed it to keep it level.

'And this is why I wasn't going to tell them!' Moody exclaimed. 'You'll only get in the way! If you want to help, you'll stay put and focus on other duties for the Order!'

'Moody is right,' Kingsley intervened. 'It is safest that your family remain uninvolved, especially since taking you and your brother would go against the agreement you had with Dumbledore and your mother.'

'But – .'

'This isn't even worth arguing about,' said Moody. 'We need to go meet the others. I don't want to see you two anywhere near the Ministry. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Weasleys?'

Fred's hands had balled into tight, shaking fists, and he looked like he was very much resisting the temptation to punch Moody. George glared at him. His twin's short temper had gotten them into more times than he could count and he could see that Moody wasn't going to budge on this matter. Instead of protesting, he murmured something that sounded vaguely like an agreement.

'We'll find out what's going on and keep you posted,' said Moody. 'Get to Polecroft and be careful! For all we know, the Death Eaters could be waiting.'

Kingsley and Moody turned on their heels. With a crack and a sharp gust of wind that immediately died down, a loose sheet of paper flew into the air and floated to the ground where they had disappeared.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~

_**A/N:** Success! Really punching to get the next two chapters out so the fun can begin._

_Please remember to review, and thanks for reading. :D_


	5. Up On Humblehaug

**V. Up On Humblehaug**

The half-moon glistened in the starry sky, interrupted by a sparse cloud that threatened to evaporate in the sweltering heat. The forest was silent except for crickets and the natural hum of the earth unheard to all ears. It was only interrupted when a sharp crack rang through the clearing and George felt his feet hit solid ground.

'I don't like this,' admitted Fred, appearing beside him. 'We should be at the Ministry with the others!'

'Damn straight,' agreed George.

'So why don't we just go?' Fred demanded.

George looked at him seriously. 'Mum.'

Fred opened his mouth, but whatever form of protest he had was quickly lost.

George moved forwards, his illuminated wand raised to cast light upon the path ahead of them. His free hand he gripped the charmed Remembrall.

Moody had taken them here last week with the intention of familiarizing them with the area. He described in great detail everything that had transpired the last night the Prewetts had been alive, apparently under the impression that they would find it interesting. With great, dramatic waves of his arms and a booming voice, he'd described the flight of the Prewetts through the forest, before they were rounded up into a central clearing (where the twins were now standing) and killed on the spot. Fabian had died first with a wound he received a few hours prior to the final stand off. Gideon fought in defence of his twin, apparently unaware he was already dead, before being tortured and killed. Died shortly upon Moody's arrival. Moody described every wound and theorized how they'd obtained it. He'd studied every inch of the clearing to track their movements.

When the twins had returned to their flat, both of them were pale and quite nauseous.

'Anything yet?' asked Fred, breaking George out of his thoughts.

'I've just started,' said George, arching the Remembrall.

Fred hesitated.

'Something the matter?' George questioned.

Fred stopped dead in his tracks, as did George. There was a faint noise coming from the road ahead.

'Nox,' whispered George. Both his wand and the Remembrall's light smothered.

He and Fred crouched down and enveloped themselves in the darkness.

Fred raised his wand. 'Homenum Revelio.'

Before their eyes, the flicker of light which detected the presence of humans was barely visible.

'I can't believe I'm stuck out here!'

The twins knelt down, willing themselves to become invisible. The voice – sharp and surprisingly light – came from just beyond the way, and was growing steadily stronger.

'I mean, all my buddies are out at my old workplace, tearing it apart, and I don't even get to join in on the fun!' the voice continued. 'I mean...it's everyone's dream to destroy their workplace...Sounded rather fun...But you had to go ruin all my brilliant dreams, didn't you? Bellatrix is going to be pissed that I didn't show up and the bitch is damn scary when things don't go her way...Now where do you think you're going?'

The bushes leading into the clearing burst and a rather scrawny man wearing dark robes stumbled into sight. He was obviously injured and as he fell, a silver mask landed in the grass before him. No sooner had he fallen when he was overtaken by a second man.

It was Augustus Rookwood.

'Now, now, what did your mum tell you about improper use of magic?' Rookwood flicked his wand and the Death Eater's own wand flew out of reach. 'Our Dark Lord would be very displeased with your work, but not nearly as displeased as I am.'

'Augustus – please!' begged the Death Eater.

'Don't you remember why we came here fifteen years ago? Do you not remember what I instructed you to do?'

'Yes, I do! Please! I didn't know! _I didn't know_!'

'Now you do,' Rookwood stomped on the man's wrist and slashed his wand. The Death Eater let out a terrible cry. 'Oh, stop bawling. You never really needed those fingers - not for anything useful, anyways. Now, to business! My friend, tell me what this is...'

Rookwood held out his hand. Dangling off of a long chain was a small object that – from a distance – appeared to be a pocketwatch.

'I didn't know...' moaned the Death Eater.

'You don't know what this is? Are you daft or something? My good man, I suggest you start taking me seriously. You have another hand full of fingers I could cut off! After that, I might start removing other body parts...'

'Pocketwatch!' he answered.

'Who's pocketwatch?'

'Prewett!'

Gideon Prewett, I take it? Really? I would never guessed...So, that night Gideon died, you took this from his cloak.'

'Yes!'

'Assuming it was the one we were looking for?'

'Yes!'

'And you gave it to me.'

'Yes!'

'And you assured me this was the right watch and like a fool I trusted your word...Do you know how long I was in Azkaban?'

'I don't – !'

'Too long. And all that time, I trusted you with this watch's safekeeping and told you not to touch it, because you are an idiot. I told you to keep it safe. And now...I break out of prison...and I retrieve the possessions I trusted you with...and I find out it's not the one I was looking for. It's. The. Wrong. One. And you know what's hilarious about this whole situation? You never noticed. And it never occurred to you that Fabian could have been carrying the real one that night. And it never occurred to you to _check his damn pockets_!'

'But – but...' the Death Eater swallowed. 'But...Gideon always carried it!'

'That's what they wanted us to think,' Rookwood laughed softly. 'They've been dead all this time and they're still playing their little tricks. Clever. Admittedly I should've thought of that myself and given you more specific instructions for that night, but no use crying over split milk...I don't think I really need you anymore.'

'Augustus, no!'

'Really, did you think I would let you get away with this? Everyone else has forgotten, but I haven't. I don't forget.'

Rookwood tapped the side of his cheek with his wand.

'Now,' Rookwood proclaimed, 'to think of something witty and clever to say just before I kill you! Don't think I'll be using ye-olde-Killing Curse...Far too quick. Hm...let's see...Oh, yes, that will do quite nicely. _Your time is up_.'

The Death Eater waved his wand. Out of thin air, Rookwood conjured a massive, metal spiked club that he casually grabbed and swung once or twice, to test the strength. He paused only to light a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth while the club hung over his shoulder. He used one foot to press the squealing victim to the ground.

With a sickening crunch, Rookwood slammed the club onto his victim's head. George closed his eyes in time to avoid seeing it, but when he opened his eyes, blood was spread over the clearing.

Rookwood laughed excitedly. 'I guess this mean's it's on again.'

He looked to the sky. Then, swinging his cloak around, he disappeared.

The twins didn't dare rise from their hiding spot for several agonizingly long minutes. George's heart was pounding in his chest. He was almost under the impression that Rookwood hadn't been talking to himself, but to _them_. Like he'd known they were watching from the shadows. But that had to be impossible. If he'd known about their presence, wouldn't he have made an attempt to kill the twins rather than permitting them to live to see him crush the Death Eater with the club lodged in the victim's skull?

Soon, George gathered his courage, and he was the first to stand, followed by Fred. They stared across at the Death Eater.

'...What the hell was that all about?' Fred asked.

They hesitantly approached the corpse of the Death Eater. George didn't recognize him; then again, he hadn't expected to with his mangled face. He quickly looked away before he could stare into the mess of blood and bone for too long.

'What was Rookwood getting on about?' George asked.

'No idea,' said Fred. 'I say we find out. This night just got a little more interesting.'

They left the Death Eater where he was and followed the path he'd come from, silently pushing through the dense forest to the deepest reaches of the wood. George took the lead, his wand in one hand and the Remembrall in the other. The light was unsteady; he was still trying to comprehend what had just happened and found himself incapable of considering it all in detail. There were a thousand possible meanings to Rookwood's words and he wasn't sure what was relevant and what was just a figure of speech.

George kept his lighted wand poised and the Remembrall raised. The flashing grew increasingly rapid as they descended down a slight hillside, until the light emitting from the Remembrall became constant and George could no longer stand to directly look at it. He held out his hand to stop Fred and moved northwards, until it started flashing again. Then he moved south, and it flashed again.

'Okay, it's somewhere around here,' determined George.

'Good to know,' said Fred. 'Now we can stand around in the dark while our little brother is potentially killed.'

'The Order'll get to them.'

'Before or after Voldemort?'

George cringed at the every syllable of Voldemort's name.

'Sorry, been listening to Harry too much,' Fred shrugged.

'They know what they're doing. I'm sure they're fine.'

Fred inhaled unsteadily. 'If we were there right now, we would – careful, now!'

The Remembrall suddenly slipped from George's fingers. He reached for it, but it was as if the small orb had suddenly gained a mind of its own. It slipped down the path and into the bushes, continuing to grow brightly against the black canvas of the night.

'Smooth move,' laughed Fred.

'Not my fault,' argued George. He was on all fours, reaching through the brush with no success. 'It just went on its own.'

'Diffindo!' Fred called, slicing his wand at the bushes.

They immediately severed and fell to the ground, limp, allowing the twins to race through after the light.

'What kind of magic did you use on that thing?' Fred questioned.

'Lots of detection charms,' said George. 'Nothing exciting, really. It was pretty easy once I used the process of elimination to figure out what combination was most effective.'

'The one who doesn't get the Remembrall has to cook for a month!'

'No fair!'

Fred raced ahead of George, stumbling slightly on what looked like a Muggle footpath that cut through the forest. Was it possible that the Prewetts had escaped through here? George briefly tried to envision his uncles racing in the opposite direction before he was reminded of their pursuit by the flashing orb still visible off in the distance. A gasp of surprise sounded from up ahead. Hurrying his pace, George came to a halt at the edge of a paved road, yet another Muggle creation. The road – narrow and shrouded by overhanging branches – twisted sharply around the bend. His twin was standing out in the middle of it, looking slightly confused.

Two headlights cut through the trees.

'FRED!'

George charged forwards. A sudden, terrifying surge rolled up from his stomach. Before he could fully register what he was doing, he tore across the road and grabbed Fred by his shirt, dragging him out of the way just as the Muggle vehicle screeched to a halt where he had been mere seconds before.

They were on the opposite side. George wrapped his fingers into the fabric of Fred's shirt, willing his pulsating heart to slow down. The car steadily rolled up. The Muggle man behind the wheel stuck his fat face out the window.

'Watch where you're going!' he shouted.

'Sorry,' both of them apologized simultaneously.

The car kicked into gear and moved off down the twisted road.

'Well, that was close,' said Fred casually. '...You can let go now.'

'Sorry,' George murmured and put his hand on his chest. 'Fred, do you remember what Mum always said about the road that ran past the Burrow?'

'The one we sometimes saw Muggles drive on?'

'That's the one.'

'...Don't stand in the middle of it?'

'Exactly,' George punched him in the arm. 'Where'd the Remembrall go?'

'Went into the treeline.'

George slowly turned. Sure enough, the faint light was still visible through the trees. They were tightly packed together, but upon their approach, they almost seemed to part in friendly greeting of the two visitors. They were guards whose silent vigil had gone unnoticed by the remainder of the world, steadily contributing to an object not meant to be discovered. While the trees had been unacknowledged, this was the moment they had lived for: when the individuals they guarded the object for finally made their triumphant appearance. And for that moment, all the years of stagnant neglect was worth it.

The Remembrall was rolling uphill, then went up a flight of stone staircases overgrown with moss and weeds. Fred hurried after it as it seemingly bounced up of its own accord. It was obvious now that it wasn't simply rolling away, but adhering to some spell that George struggled to remember, leading them to a lost place. He wasn't sure how long they climbed, but they passed several ancient stones overrun with flowers that bloomed upon their passing. Once they even passed a deck that they paused at to overlook the path they'd taken.

They were ascending a steep hill that peered over the treeline. Off in the distance they could see the village of Polecroft emitting its bright lights and the twisting Muggle highway which wound its way through the English forest. It was straight out of classical tales Fred and George had often poured over as children and then spent hours racing through the forests near the Burrow. Now, this was a place that was fresh and new to the both of them, while off in the distance the beginnings of a sunrise painted the clouds orange and gold.

Still, there was much ground to cover. They took frequent breaks, until the Remembrall finally came to rest on the final step. Fred reached it first, scooped it up, and then – breathless – collapsed onto the dirt ground, looking up towards the sky. George joined him shortly. Neither of them remained seated for long, as George looked over his twin and up at the spot where the dirt path came to a stop.

Before them, up the winding path, was a rather sad looking house nestled comfortably in between the trees. In fact, it rather reminded George of the Burrow, with an upper floor looking very out-of-proportion with the bottom, and the wooden siding peeling away in long strips. There were a few narrow windows here and there, and they were all dark, while the door was painted a surprising shade of bright yellow. For a long while, the twins stood there in stark shock, an air of disbelief between them. They had expected a cave cut out of rock, not a whole house sitting within the wood.

George's eyes travelled from the house, to a mailbox sitting not too far from their position. The name "Prewett" was splattered clumsily across the side. Directly next to it was a crooked wooden sign, where written in dark lettering, was "Humblehaug House".

'...This is...' George started,

Fred laughed, rolling back onto his feet. 'Brilliant! George, you did it!'

'Did what?'

'The spells! What if when you charmed the Remembrall...you made it so it doesn't just _detect_ Fidelius Charms...it leads the owner right to the place that's hidden?'

'That would be some magic. I wish I remembered _how_ I did it.'

George rushed to catch up with Fred, who'd already rushed down the length of the staircase. Together they approached the front door of the cabin, stifling the lights from their wands. It was George who reached out and turned the doorknob.

They were immediately hit with the stale stench of wood. Just beyond was a rather cozy little area which was oddly reminiscent of the Burrow. A fireplace was directly opposite of the doorway and it was obviously a mixed living room and kitchen. At first, George thought that it was untouched – then he noticed the knocked over furniture, the cutlery lying in front of the kitchen cabinets, and then the long-dried blood stains splattered over the walls and floors, especially over the dining table. His stomach lurched in protest. Every instinct was telling him to leave this broken place to its miserable fate, but at the same time it was irresistible. The two of them were drawn inside, looking around curiously, though there was no sign of a struggle.

Wordless, they split up to examine the premises. Fred inspected the downstairs, while George climbed up a ladder that led to the second floor. It was a makeshift bedroom, also trashed, with the two beds flipped over and a hole in the roof that allowed moonlight to stream into the area. A sort of loneliness reverberated between the walls. For some reason, George was most entranced by a perch near the very peek of the roof, where several black owl feathers were lodged in between the cracks. He went downstairs before he had too much time to ponder on what had transpired.

'Well, looks like we found where the fight started,' said George. Fred was leaning against the fireplace. 'Moody was right. The Death Eaters broke through the Fidelius Charm. This must've been where the attack started.'

'Not the only thing they broke,' said Fred.

George grimly thought of Gideon and Fabian's graves. He and Fred had only visited them at the graveyard at Ottery St. Catchpole, once or twice, and only ever alone. They'd walked for three hours just to have a glimpse at the fabled graveyard. (This was when they were children, before they knew how to apparate.) Molly had ended up finding them there and raged away about the recklessness of running off.

'I found another one of those "blood notes",' reported Fred. 'Go take a look.'

While he'd been upstairs, Fred had moved the table into an upright position and placed the note on top of it. George moved over to the paper Fred indicated. There was a note scrawled in blood, just like the first message.

~o~o~

_Fabian keeps saying there are noises outside tonight, I've been telling him he's hearing things, but, you know. I'd rather we didn't kick the bucket after everything that's happened, but you can never be too careful._

_Rookwood's closing in, so we decided to hide it rather than risk carrying it around. Fabian and I put a few nasty curses on our watches so it should take him a while to figure it out. Helps that he's an idiot. The real one is in the basement. Knowing you, it shouldn't take you long to figure out how to get there, don't want to risk writing it down in case the Death Eaters figure out how to decipher this note. Remember, whatever you do, __don't touch it__! Figure out a way to destroy it._

_GP_

~o~o~

'What do you think they're talking about?' asked George.

'Don't know,' admitted Fred.

'But whatever it is...'

'It was big enough that the Death Eaters wanted it.'

'All we have to do is find the basement.'

Both of them looked down at the blood-stained floorboards. There were no other staircases. Generally that meant there had to be a secret entrance somewhere, something hidden. George pulled out the Remembrall and moved around the entirety of the cabin, but yielded no response from it until they reached the fireplace. The beam of white light emerged within the glass.

George leaned in. There was a fine layer of soot covering the interior, but it was large enough for them to step into.

He and Fred looked at each other.

'After you,' George insisted.

'No, really, you can go first,' Fred smiled.

'It was your idea to come out here.'

'I thought it was yours...'

'I've done all the work so far. Your turn to take a risk.'

'George?'

'Yes?'

Fred shoved him into the fireplace.

Nothing happened. George breathed a sigh of relief when he collided with the back of the fireplace and retracted his hands, now covered in ages-old soot. He immediately stepped back out into the living room.

'That can't be right,' said Fred.

He stepped into the fireplace and knocked on the back wall.

'The entrance has to be here.'

'There's got to be a trick to it,' George realized.

'There better, or else we're – .'

Fred never finished his sentence. He let out a sharp scream when the floor underneath him gave away and a thick cloud of smoke shot out from the fireplace. George took a step back, coughing violently.

'Fred?!' he shouted, using his wand to syphon away the smoke.

There was a massive hole at the bottom of the fireplace. George lunged forwards.

'Fred, are you alright?!' George shouted.

'Could be better, considering I just fell two stories,' Fred's voice echoed from far below. George relaxed.

'Are you okay?' George asked.

'I don't know. Get down here! I'm stuck!'

There was a rusted ladder on the back. Muttering "Lumos", his wand lit up and he put it in between his teeth as he crawled down, being sure to test the strength of the metal as he descended downwards.

George carefully measured how far Fred had fallen and exactly how much he'd exaggerated his fall. In truth, he only had to descend a foot or two before he felt it was safe enough to jump the last few feet to the ground. When he hit the bottom, the ground underneath him sank slightly and water seeped into his sneakers. George aimed his wand into the tunnel emerging before him.

Fred was sitting in the mud not too far away, covered in soot and mud. Scattered around him were several pieces of wood and brick, with a particularly large board pinning him down. His wand was resting just out of arm's reach.

'Quit gawking and start helping!' Fred demanded.

George laughed nervously. 'Hogging all the fun, I see. Two stories, you said.'

'Yeah, yeah, it seemed a lot higher at the time. Try not to be too disappointed that I didn't break my neck.'

'I don't know, Fred, maybe I should just leave you here...'

'You wouldn't.'

'I could tell Mum that there was this unfortunate accident...keep you here forever...and keep all the profits from the shop for myself!'

'You wish!...Seriously, though, get me out.'

George performed a simple levitating spell on the wood and pried it off. Fred got up at once, stumbling slightly, but otherwise unharmed. It was truly remarkable that he'd fallen all that way and turned out unharmed. Fred stood up and made a frail attempt to brush off the debris, to no success.

'I think that's a good look for you,' said George.

'Shut up,' Fred grumbled. 'Well, this is the basement, I presume.'

'I believe it is, dear brother, if Gideon and Fabian's idea of "basement" was "tunnel to hell".'

'According to most people, we're right at home, then.'

'Shall we?'

'Let's.'

The two of them illuminated their wands and aimed the beams of light down the tunnel. It was swallower than George expected, and if he had to guess, it had been carved out of the earth and supported with a great deal of magic. He looked down towards the moisture collecting underneath his sneakers; this type of magic was known to loose its potency over a long period of time and it had probably gone fifteen years without being renewed. Right at the end of the tunnel was a single door. Upon their approach, a light turned on from the opposite side. Fred extended his hand to stop his twin. However, after a few seconds in which nothing happened, Fred gestured for him to get just out of sight while he proceeded to pry it open.

Fred flicked his wand and the door flew open. Both readied their wands in defence, but there wasn't any real reason to be worried. The light entered the tunnel and it was immediately apparent that it had come on automatically and that this place hadn't been graced with the presence of a human being for a very long time.

On the other side was a small staircase that led into a larger room above. Fred ascended first, followed by George. The room they entered was encompassed in a comforting warmth that filled every corner, constructed entirely out of wood and candles floating near the ceiling, much like back at Hogwarts. A large fireplace – with a roaring fire in its heart - was situated in the corner and every wall was laden with tables, shelves, and counters filled with the brim with an assortment of odd devices. Test tubes and artifacts littered every surface. Shrunken heads, blinking solemnly at their presence, were strung across the ceiling, accompanied by a toy train that ran on thin air, its horn blowing every so often. The smells of herbs and spices rose in a thick cloud that overwhelmed George with a sense of home.

'...Wow...' George breathed.

'Looks like they had a lot of time on their hand,' remarked Fred. He moved to the fireplace. It had lit up automatically upon their entrance.

'Look at all this stuff.'

George moved to one of the shelves. He belatedly noticed that several objects had notes pinned to them, all in the same crucial handwriting from both of the blood notes. One, pinned to a vial of bright red powder, read: "Fabian, do not touch". Another, attached to a cluster of small toffees wrapped tightly in a net bag, read: "Fabian, do not eat." Other messages were written in a childish and clumsy scrawl and more often than not read things along the lines of "The heads don't have a sense of humour" or "The heads have a better sense of humour than Gideon".

'"Gideon, I am saving this for Marlene, so don't be a sod and drink it all",' George read out loud as he held up an empty wine bottle. Part of the label had been burnt away from what was clearly the result of a fire spell.

'Can you believe it?!' Fred laughed jubilantly. 'George, we just hit the jackpot! We could use a lot of this for the shop!'

'Yeah, I'd love to walk into a shop and see a shrunken head hanging from the ceiling,' said George.

'This is a treasure trove! Just imagine!'

'In case you've forgotten, we're supposed to be looking for whatever the Death Eaters want.'

'The Death Eaters could want anything in here!'

'Not everything,' George held out the flashing Remembrall.

'There are probably all sorts of hidden things around.'

'If the charm I used worked right, it should home in on what we're looking for.'

George moved around, and the Remembrall's glow became constant and brighter when he was nearest to the fireplace. Both of the twins looked at it rather hesitantly.

'I'm not getting into it this time,' said Fred.

'I don't think you'll have to,' George knelt down.

There were several glass bottles strung directly inside the fireplace and over the open flames, silently clicking together as George peered into it. He didn't see anything especially remarkable about it, except that he was beginning to suspect that fireplaces were a favourite hiding place of the Prewetts. Fred joined him and together they stared into the fire for an agonizingly long period of time, relishing in the warmth that he welcomed as if they'd just come out of the cold. What was it about this fireplace that the Remembrall was insisting was important? Could they be searching for the fireplace, itself? The glass bottles in the middle seemed to reflect images that consisted not of the room, but of other places.

That's when he noticed something flash within the flames.

'Did you see that?' Fred and George said at the exact same moment.

'It looks like there's something in there,' said George.

'In the fire,' added Fred.

They paused.

'Someone's going to have to reach in there,' George realized. 'Just to see...'

He leaned in as close as he could without getting burned. There was definitely something visible inside of the flames, floating in mid-air and letting out a faint flash when he looked closely. George raised his hand. Fred slapped it down.

'I know we're not the brightest bunch, but are you seriously going to stick your hand into open flames?' Fred demanded.

'Well, have a healing spell ready.'

'That's your speciality.'

'There's probably a charm in it that makes the flames feel like they're ticklish...What was that spell the old witches and wizards used back during the witch trials? It probably doesn't even – .'

As he'd been talking, George rolled up his sleeve and put his fingers towards the open flames. He retracted it at once, a sharp cry escaping his lips.

'Smart,' Fred drawled.

'Shut up,' George held his wrist.

Fred raised his wand and pointed it into the flames. 'Accio!'

Nothing.

He next attempted the charm that made the flames ticklish, but when George tried it a second time, he retracted his hand twice as quickly when the heat licked at the tips of his fingers.

'I bet you that the Prewetts made it so it can't be affected by any spell,' said George. 'Whoever wants it has to stick their whole hand in.'

'Now how on Earth could you know that?'

'We'd do the same thing.'

'...Yeah, you're right.'

Neither of them spoke for a minute.

Finally, George drew out his wand and pointed it at his left hand.

'Impervius,' he said.

'George, why don't you let me do it?' Fred asked.

'No, I'll do it,' insisted George. He wasn't about to Fred hog all the glory.

George gathered up his courage and shoved his arm into the fire. He bit down – hard – on his tongue to prevent himself from screaming out, grabbed the object, and threw it out. Only then did he allow himself to scream and he turned away, slamming his forehead against the ground.

'Goddammit, George, I can't believe you did that!' Fred exclaimed. 'Let me see your hand.'

Breathing heavily, George didn't respond. His arm still felt as though it was engulfed his flames. His fingers were locked in a clenching motion that he couldn't free himself from. The heat was so intense that he no longer had any sense of feeling within his body. However, the heat quickly died down, replaced with a chill that rolled throughout each of his fingers. Fred gently took his arm by the elbow. Only then did George dare to look at the damage. To his relief, the momentary pain had died down and his arm appeared perfectly alright, save that it was slightly red and the finer hairs had been singed off.

'Okay?' Fred asked, putting a hand on his back.

'I think so,' George grunted.

'I can't believe you did that,' Fred repeated.

'At least I got it out,' said George. 'What was it?'

Fred stood up and moved a few feet away, where the object was lying on the floor. He crouched over and lightly touched it.

'Is it hot?' George questioned.

'Freezing, actually,' said Fred. He picked it off the floorboards.

'So what is it?'

Fred unclenched his fist to show him. Resting in the centre of his palm, elaborately decorated with Celtic symbols and a slight dent on the edge, was a pocket watch. It didn't seem particularly remarkable in any way, except that it appeared quite old and the name "Prewett" was engraved across the top.

A sharp gust of unexplained wind flew into the room and smothered all sources of light.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~

_Irrelevant Headcanon #01: Rookwood was sorted into Ravenclaw back at Hogwarts, not Slytherin. Why? Because he strikes me as being a Ravenclaw. A malicious, evil, conniving, utterly mad Ravenclaw. I see him as an insane psychopath who isn't really into the whole "blood purity" and "wizarding greatness" sort of thing - sure, it's important, but it isn't his defining goal in life to purify the wizarding race. Bellatrix can handle that part. He's on Voldemort's side because heck - his boss basically gives him permission to rip Mudbloods apart and cause chaos! What fun!_

_Next chapter is THE chapter. Then the fun can really begin._

_I must admit that my favourite part to write in this chapter was the scene with Rookwood. I find him unbelievably amusing, and I didn't really think of him as such when I started this._

_This is so much fun. :D_

_Remember to review!_


	6. The Pocketwatch

**VI. The Pocketwatch**

'What the – !'

'OW! That was my hand!'

'Lumos. _Lumos maxima_! Shit.'

'Let me try. Lumos.'

'Hang on, I know I saw a candle – .'

CRASH.

'Whoops.'

'It's over here, Fred. Incendio!'

The room was briefly highlighted with orange and red and then went dark once more.

Cradled in George's hands, the candle hesitantly came to life. His entire body was trembling and he couldn't explain why.

Fred was standing above him, appearing equally petrified. He waved his wand casually.

'Lumos maxima!' he chanted.

The wand didn't respond.

'Okay, the easiest spell in the book isn't working,' announced Fred.

'What was that?' George asked.

'I...I don't know,' Fred shivered and sank to his knees. 'George...do you remember during our fifth year...and Dementors came onto the train?'

Fred didn't need to explain further. George immediately understood what he was getting at. The gust of wind resembled the very essence of the creatures he'd once feared haunted every shadow. The little voice within his head told him that it would be best to immediately flee, leaving behind the treasure trove of magical objects, but he always ignored his consciousness. Instead, his gaze followed the eerie, sharp shadows created by the firelight and onto the object which Fred had dropped in surprise when the lights went out.

Pocketwatch. A plain, old pocketwatch. His conscience called back to the conversation Rookwood had had with the Death Eater now lying dead in the wood.

'Rookwood mentioned something about a pocketwatch,' Fred said before George had the opportunity to do so.

Fred aimed his wand at the fireplace and lit it up again, though this time the fire's presence was less potent, as if it was terrified of becoming the centre of attention. Fred scooted forwards and they leaned over the pocketwatch.

It was George who finally gathered the courage to pick it up. He turned it over in his hand a few times. Despite having been enveloped by fire, it was – as his twin had said – ice cold to the touch. George squeezed the snap and it opened.

George noticed two things as he opened it. The first thing he noticed was a tightly folded piece of paper placed just inside that floated to the floor. The second thing he noticed was that – while the watch displayed the familiar planets and stars – the face was entirely different from what the standard construction of a wizarding pocketwatch was. Across the circular canvas were three boxes, under which were written – from left to right - "Years", "Months", and "Days". Below it was a smaller set of three boxes, and under them were smaller units of time; hours, minutes, and seconds. The number in the seconds box was steadily going downwards.

All in all, the time displayed was two years, six months, six days, twenty-two hours, nine minutes, and fifty-eight seconds.

George Fabian Weasley was written at the very top in elegant, gold lettering.

His mouth hung open slightly. What was this? He could feel some sense of dark energy coursing through his fingers and up the length of his arm, a chill he hadn't felt the likes of before. Fred gently took the watch from him. At once, the face changed. Instead of saying George's name, it said his, and the numbers changed with it. It now read two years, six months, six days, seventeen hours, thirty-seven minutes, and nineteen seconds.

George watched as the nineteen decreased to eighteen. A total of ten seconds past before anyone had the nerve to speak.

'...What on Earth...?' George started. 'This is what the Death Eaters were searching for?'

'I don't know about all the Death Eaters, but Rookwood was definitely interested,' said Fred. He turned over the watch to examine it from all angles.

Fred was right. Only Rookwood had been out in the forest, and he had implied that Voldemort knew nothing of his presence here.

'"Prewett",' read Fred. 'A family heirloom, maybe?'

George took it again. The numbers increased.

'It's a countdown,' realized George.

'Countdown to what?'

George peered past the face of the watch and to the floor. The folded piece of paper was still there.

'I think this might give us the answers,' said George.

He raised it up and gently unfolded it. As he did so, sharp pricks shot into his fingertips, but he gritted his teeth and dealt with the pain until he laid it flat on the floor. George ran his entire hand over it. The blood smear immediately absorbed into the paper, and at once sharp scarlet writing started to emerge from the top of the page. The twins leaned forwards to read it.

_Rules for the Pocketwatch_

'Why does everything have to come with rules?' demanded Fred.

'That's Gideon's writing,' said George. He gingerly picked up the paper. This time, there was no pain involved. Not any physical pain, at least.

'Read the whole thing,' urged Fred. 'Let's hear it.'

George inhaled deeply (he hadn't breathed at all in the last few seconds and hadn't even realized it) and read the first paragraph.

_Rule One. When coming into contact with magical blood, the face of the watch rearranges to display a count down to that person's allotted time of death. This predicted time of death can't be avoided by any precautions taken._

'Blimey, is that true?' Fred's eyes went wide.

'Don't touch it, Fred!'

George's mind refused to believe what he was reading. He'd heard that the Prewetts were tricksters in their own right. This had to be a practical joke; George _knew_ a joke when he saw one.

_Rule Two. If the pocketwatch were to be destroyed, then the current owner will die._

George's voice faded at the end of the sentence. The paper almost slipped out of his hand as he raised his gaze to make eye contact with his brother. For all his worth, even Fred – who could look at the strangest object and regard it as being perfectly normal - was looking a little bit disturbed.

'It can't be serious,' murmured Fred. Then, stronger: 'I mean, what kind of stupid rule is that?'

'I don't like the looks of this,' admitted George. He slowly lowered it. 'Maybe we should just get rid of it without reading the rest.'

'Give that here,' Fred snatched the paper out of his hand. 'I'll read it.'

_Rule Three. If the watch is held in the dominate hand of the owner while their wand – in their non-dominate hand – is pointed at another person with magical blood, it instead displays that person's allotted time of death._

_Rule Four. The pocketwatch can only be owned by pureblood wizards._

'Great,' drawled Fred. 'We got another purist – and it's a stupid inanimate object!'

'Not so sure about the inanimate part at this point,' said George. He took the paper from his twin and continued to read.

_Rule Five. Once picked up, ownership of the pocketwatch can't be surrendered, but it can pass onto another pureblood witch or wizard. Half-bloods, Muggle-born wizards, and Muggles are exempt from this rule and ownership passes them over until and unless the pocketwatch finds its way back into the possession of a pureblood wizard. Ownership is passed through physical touch of the pocketwatch and is effective 60 seconds after it is initially passed._

_Rule Six. Knowledge is passed on through the reading of the rules. The pocketwatch can only be discussed while in the presence of previous and former owners. Half-bloods and Muggle-born wizards can know about the existence of the pocketwatch, but not own it or share knowledge with non-owners._

_Rule Seven. Ownership of the pocketwatch is exclusive and can only belong to one individual at a time, except in the event the pocketwatch comes into the possession of wizarding biological siblings from the same pregnancy, such as twins. In this case, the pocketwatch considers both wizards to be its owners. All of the rules of the pocketwatch will apply to both of them._

Once more, George briefly exchanged a hesitant glance with Fred, but no words were exchanged between them. Even if he'd had anything to say, he was fairly certain that he couldn't speak, not when his throat was parched.

_Rule Eight. When attached to a new owner, the pocketwatch enhances the effects of the owner's magic, greatly increasing the potency of his or her spells. Nonverbal and wandless magic becomes much more effective and deadly._

_Final Rule. The moment the pocketwatch is attached to a person, the owner becomes exempt from dying at the time displayed. The pocketwatch's sole purpose is to see that its current owner dies before their time, so that it can claim their soul._

George let out a sharp gasp, like someone had just stabbed him in the heart. He slowly backed into the corner. Something dark was driving sharp quivers throughout his body, making him numb with eternal fear. It was a living nightmare.

'Oh, my God,' George whispered, his breath coming in rigid gasps. The darkness was seeping in, making the room waver dangerously. 'Oh...Oh, God. Fred, this is...this is dark magic.'

'Of course it's dark magic, it blotted out the stupid lights,' said Fred.

'Fred, we have to get rid of that...that _thing_!' George exclaimed.

'There isn't any proof that this is anything more than a stupid prank!' Fred shouted. His face had gone wild. George instinctively cringed; he'd never been the target of such an expression before, let alone from his own brother. But it faded almost at once, giving away into raw fear and denial.

'What if it isn't?' George asked.

'It's just not possible. I know magic can be used to do a lot of things – but something like this? You can't just measure when a person's going to kick the bucket!'

'Calm down for a minute,' George snapped.

'George, in case you haven't noticed!' Fred snatched the watch and showed him the face. 'This thing says we're going to die in two years! That's not a lot of time!'

'Two and a half years.'

'Oh, that makes me feel a whole lot better! It just isn't possible! Magic doesn't work like that - like _this_! I mean...it _can't_ be.'

George was shivering. He was doing his best not to look directly at Fred. He was doing his best to keep his own alarm from going out of control. Fred had to be right. This had to be a divine prank constructed by the Prewetts, long dead, and made irrelevant by the sheer weight of the list of rules. What spell could alter history in such a drastic manner? There were limits to what magic could accomplish. Magic was only as potent as the force of the wizard behind it, and for such an enchantment to be placed on an ancient object without degrading over time was ridiculous, to say the least. In addition, he couldn't recall any instance in the past where a spell had the ability to effect the entirety of the population. Not off the top of his head. The moment they'd left school he and Fred had promptly decided that everything they learned wasn't really worth knowing.

His twin sank back to the ground. Visible beads of sweat were visible on his brow, which he wiped off. George quickly checked the actual time on a nearby cuckoo clock. It was just past five in the morning. His brow furrowed as a new thought came to mind.

'I wonder what day that is,' George wondered out loud. 'Two years, six months, six days. What day is that?'

They looked at each other.

There was a calender resting on a nearby table that both of them dived for at the exact same time. It was magically charmed to display the current year, and when George prodded it with the tip of his wand, the numbers and letters flew across the page to rearrange to the desired year. There was a number of minutes where there was a great deal of confusion and disagreement about the exact date. It took both of them to formulate a precise calculation of the time suggested by the watch. When they realized when it was, they both looked up at each other in horrid, stark realization.

'Christmas Eve, 1998,' realized George.

They sank back. George examined the inside of the watch clutched protectively in Fred's hand. Underneath the allotted time were smaller units. The seconds was steadily reducing. George took it into his hand and the number of hours increased by four. Once again a cold chill ran through him. Fred was going to die four hours before him.

At once, George adopted the facade of denial and hate that Fred had harboured minutes earlier. He threw the pocketwatch across the room. Absolutely not. Dead in two years. Dead on Christmas Eve. Dead four hours after Fred. Unacceptable. Ludicrous. They'd spent their entire lives defying the odds and this was no exception. No, this was a practical joke. It was like envisioning being on the good side of their mum or getting good grades or not leaving Hogwarts in a flurry of exploding swamps – it simply didn't _happen_. For the second time, he read over the rules, and each time they were countered with a "but" that sounded from the sceptical, imaginary voice of Moody. At the same time, even that paranoid little voice was laden with denial of what appeared to be the complete truth.

'This must've been what the Prewetts were protecting,' said Fred. 'But...what...'

'Rookwood,' murmured George. 'It sounded as though he was looking for a pocketwatch.'

'Could've been any pocketwatch.'

'Is just any old watch worth all the trouble?'

'...Suppose not...'

Pause. George ran his fingers through his hair.

'Fred...' he started. 'We need to tell the Order.'

'It's a stupid watch,' said Fred. 'I mean, this doesn't mean anything!'

'Do you want to take the chance that it isn't? If Rookwood really is looking for this thing – .'

'Get you wand. There's someone upstairs.'

George fell quiet. He retrieved the undamaged watch from underneath the table it'd gone under and stood, his wand raised. The moment the watch was out of sight the darkness enveloping the room subsided and the nearest candles – as well as the fireplace – reignited.

'Weasleys!' a rough voice shouted through the floorboards. 'I can see you down there! Get up here!'

It was Moody. George laughed and the twins bolted for the rusted ladder at the end of the near-collapsed hall, sparing no second for caution. Fred ascended first and when the two of them reemerged in the main room, they found Moody quickly surveying the area.

'Mad-Eye!' Fred exclaimed. 'Is Ron – ?'

'They're fine, what've you found?' Moody demanded.

'They're okay? What happened?'

Moody huffed. 'We got there before the Death Eaters. Harry took a long a few members of your little gang – including your brother and your sister.'

'Ginny?' the twins said simultaneously.

George resisted a rising urge to go kill Harry.

'It's a long, complicated story, there was a fight with the Death Eaters, but everyone is just dandy, thank you very much,' Moody waved his hand dismissively. 'I apparated out near the clearing and followed your trail here. Some of the others should be joining us shortly, all being well. How did you break the Fidelius Charm?'

'The Remembrall led us here,' explained Fred. 'Seems it leads people right to the thing that's hidden. Can your Sneakoscope do that?'

Moody scowled. 'I found a Death Eater out in the woods.'

'Rookwood was here earlier.'

'No surprise there,' Moody grumbled. 'Did you find anything useful?'

'Actually – ,' George started.

'No, nothing,' said Fred.

'_Fred_,' hissed George.

'Not unless you count the shrunken heads,' affirmed Fred.

George glared at his twin firmly. _What are you doing?_

Fred's gaze flickered in his direction, as did Moody's. Moody's eye swivelled to look the twins up and down. George clutched the watch behind his back, expecting the Auror to ask him why he was hiding that and demand to see it.

But nothing came. Moody's scowl merely increased and he backed off to examine the fireplace.

George's mouth fell open. Moody hadn't said anything. It was as though he hadn't even _seen_ the watch clutched behind his back – and Moody could do more than see through human bodies, that was for certain. He exchanged a baffled look with Fred, whose shoulders visibly relaxed. He nodded for his twin to put it into his pocket, which he did. He didn't know why this wouldn't be as good a time as any to share what they'd found, but whatever Fred had in mind, it would have to wait until they were in the privacy of their flat. Nevertheless, that didn't stop George from giving his twin his best scolding expression. Fred liked to tell George that when he was pissed off, he looked scarily similar to their mother.

At that very moment, the door to the hideout burst open and in stormed a wild man with wavy brown hair, currently nursing a very black eye but looking otherwise unharmed.

'So this is where everyone's hiding!' Sirius Black shouted to the room at large. '...I think I finally found a place marginally worse than Grimmauld Place. Sorry I'm late, I was just saying goodbye to Harry. I could've used your help back at the Ministry, Mad-Eye! Man could loose an eye while you're not paying attention!'

~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The flat wavered unnervingly when George's feet hit solid ground. He stumbled, the events of the last hour raging through his mind as sunlight continued to stream across the floor, casting their elongated shadows across the cracked floorboards and abandoned boxes. Fred did not stumble. If anything, his landing was spotless and he moved forwards with a familiar sense of resilience and determination. George knew that walk all too well.

Fred had a new idea.

'Why didn't Moody see the watch?' George asked at once. 'He should've seen us trying to hide it.'

'Maybe he couldn't, suggested Fred.

So, they had a pocketwatch that was apparently cursed, had their maternal family's name on it, it was predicting their deaths in two years, and now Moody was blind to its presence? This day was just getting better and better.

'Well, when you said that the day just got more interesting, well...' George laughed lightly. 'I didn't quite expect this. So what's up? Why not tell Moody about the pocketwatch?'

'Think about it, George,' said Fred.

'I'm thinking about it. And the more I think about it, the more I want to tell Moody.'

Fred smiled.

'This is bigger than the two of us!' George protested, reading his twin's mind. 'This is bigger than the shop! This is bigger than one of your insane get-rich-quick schemes!'

'I wasn't thinking about earning galleons.'

'No, but you're thinking about using that pocketwatch to our own benefit!' He snatched it out of Fred's outstretched hand, shaking it at him. 'This is Dark Magic! We have our limits!'

'We've used Dark Magic before.'

'On select occasions which mostly involved using it to develop a product – and after the product was invented, that was it! We've never used Dark Magic to _hurt_ anyone!'

Fred rolled his eyes. 'If you don't count the Fainting Fancies and the Nosebleed Nuggets...what the do you think _those_ do?'

'Well, what do you want to use the pocketwatch for?'

'I think we should run our usual battery of tests on it. Find out what it does...If the rules really are real.'

'And then what?'

'Then we tell the others. If we'd told Moody straight off the bat, he would've taken it and claimed we couldn't handle it.'

George narrowed his eyes. Fred was up to something. With all the conniving, occasionally malicious schemes he came up with, he would've made a good Slytherin. (Fred had confided in him a few years back at the Sorting Hat had placed serious consideration into putting him into Slytherin. For George it was quite the opposite; the Hat had debated whether or not to put him into Ravenclaw. But it hardly mattered now because they'd ended up in Gryfindor, which was where they belonged.)

Regardless, on occasions, Fred wasn't forward with George, simply because he was waiting for the right moment to surprise him with a new idea. Sometimes, he just liked to mess with him.

'Funny, Fred,' said George. 'Now what are you really up to?'

'That obvious?'

'Blindingly so. The shop is opening in two days, Fred, this isn't the time to go messing around with something new! We need to make this work!' George's voice lowered. 'We're already in debt, you know.'

'Of course I know!' Fred snapped.

'If the shop isn't successful, then we're in over our heads!'

'Which is precisely _why_ we need to mess with something new! Say...a watch that predicts the holder's time of death?'

'You're not serious about replicating that thing.'

'Think about it, George. It doesn't have to be their actual time of death – but it could give people a real fright!'

'Absolutely not!' George stamped his foot. 'Absolutely, _irrevocably_ not! This is Dark Magic! We are not the bad guys! We are not going to use this thing for profit – and that's _final_!'

Fred appeared rather surprised at his adamant refusal, but as per tradition, he recovered quickly. 'You're no fun.'

'No, just smarter. Which is why I'm going to live four hours longer!'

Fred looked at him in surprise before they both burst into laughter that held steady for a good minute before dying down.

'Fred,' George started, 'this isn't real, is it? We're not really going to die in two years...right?'

Fred sighed and shrugged. 'I don't know. Tell you what, let's wait out the forty-eight hours to see if anything happens. According to the Rules, there should be a lot of changes taking place; shouldn't be too hard to notice. Anyways, how about we give it to Moody if anything happens? Say, in two days?'

'Alright, fair enough. Two days. It's a deal.'

Fred smiled slyly, but this time, George let it pass.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

_A/N: Alright, I admit, I indulged in the whole evil laughter bit._

_I imagine that the next chapter shouldn't take too long to come out. I'm really inspired right now and I'm free of college and exams for the remainder of December. Take that, education! Frankly I think I've learned more while NOT being in school...XP_

_Remember to review! :D_


	7. An Unexpected Visitor

_**A/N:** Attention shoppers: minor parts of the previous chapter have been altered. What was the "Ninth Rule" to the watch has been eliminated. I apologise, as it was the final remnant of what was the original plot to this story._

_It's also Christmas_

_MERRY CHRISTMAS_

_It's also past one in the morning. I suppose sleep would be a good option right about now..._

**VII. An Unexpected Visitor**

He and Fred got into their fair share of disagreements; there was very rarely any yelling, but they usually came to an unsteady compromise. That was the key to successfully getting along with a twin: constantly coming to comprises to any given disagreement. When Fred and George returned to their flat, George was considering the possibility of taking the watch to Moody, himself, without consulting his brother. But that would be a betrayal. They'd made a deal and he would see it through, even though he couldn't help but think back to the rules, and how they cautioned that the changes would take effect in that same time period. There was a high probability that Fred was hoping to do something with the watch before the allotted time expired, so George resolved to closely monitor the situation.

He also decided that he should be the one to carry the pocketwatch.

Surprisingly, Fred didn't bother him about the watch until well into the late afternoon, just when they were putting the finishing touches on their shop and discussing whether or not they should have an early opening. They decided against it. Being finished a day ahead of schedule, they could use the time to put up the colourful decorations that they wanted to use to make the shop "pop" in contrast to the rest of Diagon Alley.

The Daily Prophet was late that day and the first picture they saw was Voldemort's picture plastered on the front page. The story was uninteresting at best, echoing what they'd already learned from Moody. Voldemort had been exposed to the world and Harry Potter was no longer a crackpot vying for attention. The only passage George found to be of some interest and relevance to them was a passage near the end of the article.

_Ministry officials believe that the Death Eaters gained access to the Department of Mysteries thanks to in part of the assistance of former Unspeakable Augustus Rookwood, one of the escapees from the mass breakout from Azkaban that occurred earlier this year. Rookwood – described by his former Ministry employees as "eccentric", but "lively" - became an essential informant to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during the Wizarding War. He was later exposed and imprisoned._

_Auror Alastor Moody, who assisted in the fight, had this to say: "Rookwood wasn't seen during the fight and it's likely that the coward wasn't actually there. Get your [explicit] facts straight."_

_With the recapture of many of the fugitives from the mass breakout, Rookwood is one of two fugitives that remain at large, the other being Bellatrix. Ministry officials are urging the wizarding public to be on the look out for Rookwood and Lestrange, and reminds them not to approach them, as they are considered extremely dangerous and powerful wizards._

George had hoped that the newspaper would distract Fred, but it was right after its arrival that he asked if he could look at it. George denied him, and checked on the watch continuously over the course of the hours to ensure that his twin hadn't snatched it up.

Eventually, though, George agreed that it would be better if they both took a better look at it and they settled down at the same desk he'd created the Remembrall on to look at it in more detail, with Fred pouring through spare books they had to search for any reference to the complexity of the pocketwatch – or any known enchantment that could alter the world in the way that the Prewett's notes implied. Unfortunately their selection of research books were limited to "The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection" and "The Hairy Heart: A Guide to Wizards Who Won't Commit". The only book that was of any real use was the one they'd stuffed under one of the coffee table's legs to keep it from wobbling. As it turns out, it was a Muggle book on clocks and clock-making that had been checked out of the nearest Muggle library approximately twenty-eight years ago.

It recounted how to dismantle clocks, how to put them back together, how to reset, how to wind, how to engrave, how to find a proper fitting glass, how to find proper replacement parts, how to build one from scratch – basically everything that wasn't relevant to magical enchantments. The only part George found interesting was a brief paragraph in the introduction, recounting the history of clocks, up until the invention of the first proper pocketwatches in the 16th century. As memory served, George remembered that was when the first proper wizarding pocketwatches had also been invented in that same time period, as wizards had no doubt found the Muggle variations tedious at best. Regardless, there was still no elaboration on the nature of the pocketwatch. Except that it was very old.

Fred gave up right before dinner. George gave up shortly thereafter and they went to the Three Broomsticks for some Firewhiskey and a hot meal.

The following evening, George found himself lying on his bed with a book of wandlore he'd purchased from the bookstore down the way, while Fred sat in the windowsill with a sketchbook he used to brainstorm his ideas. Although it was far more probable that he was doodling. The only sound was that of Fred's pencil scratching against the paper and the usual bustle coming from Diagon Alley just outside the open window. In truth, George wasn't actually reading, for hidden on top of the page was the list of rules as transcribed by Gideon.

George examined every inch of the rules, as written in the narrow, crimson-coloured ink. Nine rules, each one constructed with the purpose of leaving a painful mark on a person's life. But it obviously wasn't just meant for owners past, present, and future. It seemed to George that the rules had been written down for the purpose of remembering them. Gideon and Fabian had transcribed the rules, probably as they discovered them, to track the long-term effects the ownership of the pocketwatch meant. And if these rules were right, that meant that he and Fred were the proud owners of one cursed pocketwatch imbued with the darkest of magic.

He instinctively stuck his hands into his pockets until his fingertips came into contact with the increasingly cold surface of the watch. The odd thing about it was that it never seemed to absorb body heat; it was always freezing whenever he checked to make sure that Fred hadn't nicked it when he wasn't looking.

'Why wandlore?' Fred asked suddenly.

'Huh?' George blinked.

'Why are you reading up on wandlore?' Fred repeated.

'Well, I think one of the biggest clues to what the deal is with the watch is the rule about the watch increasing the potency of spells and the effectiveness of wandless and nonverbal magic.'

Fred raised an eyebrow.

'_What_?'

'Nothing. For a minute there I thought you were channelling our Hermione.'

George rolled his eyes. 'Anyways, depending on how potent we're talking about...that might make the pocketwatch a _very_ desirable possession, particularly to a Dark Wizard. Imagine not having to use a wand. You'd never be at a disadvantage if you were ever disarmed in combat. I vote that we should start reading for any passage about wandless magic.'

'...Read?' Fred started.

'Yes, Fred, that's the part where you look at the little black markings and absorb information, and no, there are no pictures,' said George.

Fred laughed and shook his head.

'I wonder if Gideon and Fabian meant for the pocketwatch to come to us,' said George.

'What makes you say that?' Fred asked.

'Well, think about it. Those blood notes only activated when they came into contact with us, their blood relatives. If Dumbledore was right about the notes responding to members of the Prewett bloodline, then that meant that only a member of our family could've used them. There really isn't anyone else, is there?'

'Guess not. But what if they meant for it to come to Mum?'

'I dunno. She was their sister and all. Would we leave something like this to Ginny if it came to it?'

'Definitely not,' they both said simultaneously.

'Okay, that rules that out. What about Moody?'

'What about him?'

'Look, from the way Gideon wrote that last blood note, it sounded as though he was talking to someone who already knew about the watch.'

'What makes you think Moody's involved?'

'He's the one who kept asking if we'd found anything interesting.'

'...Now that you mention it...George, I saw him pick up that note, the one I found in the kitchen. He stuffed it into his pocket when he thought we weren't looking.'

'Did the writing disappear?'

'Don't know. Didn't see.'

They trailed off and fell back into silence. Of course, directly confronting Moody about such a thing would be absurd. Not alone, at least. If there were more people in the room – say, the entire Order – when they pointed it out, Moody may be compelled to answer, or he may simply deny such a thing and stock out before the conversation could proceed.

George focused on a glass of water sitting on the dresser just opposite of him. He'd gotten it after breakfast, not thinking much of it as he placed it right across from it. He glared at it. Increasing the potency of magic. Wandless magic. Nonverbal magic. A series of spells relating to water passed casually through his mind. He'd attempted to do wandless magic with Fred before and they'd been marginally successful, but they'd never been able to do any of the more complex spells with much success. After all, wands were created for the purpose of augmenting a wizard's natural abilities. A wizard simply wasn't a wizard without him.

Frowning, he placed the book down on his chest and continued to stare mindlessly at the glass. The surface of the water was slowly swaying back and forth as he contemplated incantations, though there was no apparent force aside from magic that would initiate such a simple response.

'I really think we should take it to Moody,' said George.

'Not this again,' Fred groaned. 'He'd take it away and that would be the last we'd hear of it. Gideon wrote the list of Rules, George, don't you think we – as their relatives – have a right to know what's going on here?'

'I'm not saying that,' George countered. 'But we promised Mum we'd be careful.'

'We've broken more promises than the ones we kept. I just don't know if giving this over to Moody is a good idea.'

'What do you mean by that?!' George rolled onto his feet, while Fred pressed his lips together and looked guilty.

'George, haven't you noticed?' Fred asked.

'Noticed what?'

'I've...I've been trying some things out. I've barely had to use a wand all day, and we've only had it for this short time.'

'We can't keep it, Fred,' George said decisively.

'No one knows we have it,' Fred pointed out, 'and if Moody gets a hold of it, he'll want to lock it up and keep us as uninvolved as possible.'

'You don't know that. Neither of us can know that. This isn't some game like back at school, Fred, this is the real world – and in the real world, concealing something like this could come back and bite us in the ass.'

'We could use this against the Death Eaters. Turn it _against_ You-Know-Who!'

'Fred, please don't talk like that. You know what we have to do.'

'I know what we have to do...but my heart tells me something else.'

'Oh, for goodness sake, why is this even up for debate?' George demanded. 'This is a dark, enchanted object and unless we find out what exactly the extent of what it can do, we can't risk using it for anything! Moody knows more about this kind of stuff than any other person we know! This isn't something for the shop! To keep this quiet – and – and what about Rookwood? What if he really is after it and he finds out that we have it? What do you think would happen then?'

'We can take care of one Death Eater.'

'Events thus far seem to prove otherwise!'

'George, it's simple! I want to see what it can do.'

'I don't think we should do anything without telling someone.'

'We're Order members, George – .'

'And as Order members, we should tell Moody anything suspicious we found! Fred, do you realize that this is possibly how Gideon and Fabian ended up dead?! Why Rookwood chased them?!'

'If Rookwood is desperate enough to chase them across Britain, then it must be worth it.'

'What else are you thinking?'

'I don't trust Moody,' admitted Fred. 'He's doing more than hiding something, and I think Lupin might in on it, too.'

'Lupin?'

'Let's get the facts straight. Don't you remember what Moody told us about the night the Prewetts died? He said he and Lupin found the bodies. They were the only two there when they found them.'

George's mind blanked, and then his thoughts returned with renewed potency. Fred was right. Moody had explicitly stated that he and Lupin were the ones to find the Prewetts, dead and barely alive, in the wood that night. Who knows what they could've done in that short period of time when back-up arrived?

'So you think this has to do with the watch?' George asked.

'Maybe,' Fred shrugged. 'I'm just saying we shouldn't trust Moody. Moody's hiding something and we're going to be shoved aside if we take this watch to him.'

George averted his gaze.

'Why don't we keep it?' asked Fred. 'Just for now?'

It was a question. Fred wanted permission, and he wanted it more than anything. He wanted the watch more than anything, for reasons George couldn't understand. George gripped it tightly in his fingers. Still, continuous warning signals were popping off in his head. Suddenly he felt the excruciating need to get away from Fred and he got to his feet.

'I need...to get something from the Burrow,' George decided.

'Oh, sure, just now!' Fred stood. 'What's your problem? We should be using the watch!'

'The watch says we're going to die!'

'Why not go out with a bang?

'This isn't a game!'

'I never thought it was! It's a war! And we can have an advantage – however slight that is – by keeping the watch!'

'We still don't know the full extent of what it does! It could have a greater curse than it says on the rules!'

'You're going to Moody, aren't you?'

'No, not this time!' George snapped. 'But I can't promise it for the next!'

George stormed down the staircase. He could hear Fred coming after him, but he seemed to change his mind when he reached the staircase and stopped. George slipped outside of the front door and turned to apparate, but as he did so, he felt a vague gust of cool wind slip by him, like someone was running just past him. The door jerked slightly. But there was no one there.

George remained still for a moment before deciding that he was imagining things, turning on the spot, and disappearing with a sharp crack.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~

George intended to apparate right outside of the Burrow, but was so riled up that he ended up appearing several hundred metres away from where he'd intended to land; right in the shadow of a tilted tree he used to climb with his brothers. When he realized where he was – standing on the opposite hillside – he let out a swear and stomped his foot in irritation. How could he have lost his concentration like that? He ran down a list of people he could blame for this minor inconvenience. His immediate inclination was to blame Fred, but he inexplicably decided to blame the witch that had taught his sixth-year class how to apparate in the first place. It seemed only fair.

He apparated again so he landed right under the tree just outside the Burrow. He jumped the fence and stormed across the yard, not putting much thought into where he was walking until he hit the back door so hard it slammed against the wall.

The Burrow. His childhood home, filled with so many memories of running throughout the house's crooked rooms, not putting much thought into what he was doing, and those days when he could relish in mindless playtime, rather than books, bills, and cursed pocketwatches. Molly was standing at the kitchen sink when he entered and dropped what she was doing, a surprised look on her face.

'George?' Molly blinked.

'I'm not staying, I just...forgot some boxes.' George waved her off and moved through the living room, intending to storm up the staircase before he had to answer too many questions.

He stopped short when he realized that the living room wasn't empty. There were four people sitting around on the furniture, looking pale and traumatized. Ron and Ginny. Both of them red-haired, slim, and as pale as all get out. Harry was crouched by the fire and looking distracted. And finally, examining the contents of a bookcase stuffed into the corner, was Hermione Granger.

'What're you doing here?' asked George in a harsh, demanding tone.

'We live here, thanks,' Ginny snapped. 'We just got back to Hogwarts when Dumbledore told us to pack our things and come right here. Neville and Luna were sent home, too. Not sure why.'

George scowled, not entirely reacting or caring.

'You look like you're in a foul mood,' said Ginny.

'I was just about to fix tea, dear,' said Molly, following him. 'Do you want some?'

'Mum, I'm not staying, I'm just here to grab some things,' announced George. He started up the staircase.

'What's your problem?' Ginny demanded.

'Nothing, Ginny! Fred and I have just had a little _spat_, that's all.'

'...You two had a fight?' said Ron.

George rolled his eyes and turned to face the room at large. 'No, not a fight exactly. Just a difference of opinion.'

Ron was looking more perplexed by the second. 'You two _never_ fight!'

'What was it about?' Ginny questioned.

'Honestly, can't you mind your own business?' George demanded in a harsher tone than he'd intended. 'It wasn't even a fight! It was just a difference of opinion!'

He stormed up the staircase. At the second landing he came to, he pried open the door to his and Fred's old room. It was filled to the brim with boxes he and Fred hadn't yet found the time to transport over to the shop. Ginny pursued him, while he started to push aside the boxes for the sole purpose of distracting him from his sister lingering in the doorway, hands on her hips. Ron and Hermione joined them shortly.

'What do you mean, "mind your own business"?!' shouted Ginny.

'It means, go away,' George snapped.

'George!' Ginny yelled. He couldn't exactly blame her for being annoyed; most of their siblings had told Ginny to go away at one point or another, but he and Fred had always welcomed her company. Right now, she looked more hurt than anything else – and he sagged in defeat.

George sighed and his voice lowered. 'Sorry.'

'You should be!' Ginny exclaimed. 'So what was the fight about?'

'We're just having differing opinions on how to run the shop and – _as usual_ – Fred seems determined to completely ignore whatever I say!'

Hermione shook her head. 'I wish you wouldn't let Fred walk all over you.'

George stopped what he was doing. He slowly stood and looked to the doorway for the first time. If anything, he almost thought Ron looked more offended than he was; his mouth was wide open. Ron wisely took a step back.

'_What_?' George said icily.

'I said, I wish you wouldn't let Fred walk all over you,' Hermione repeated. 'You've always gone along with whatever Fred had suggested without protest – and that's probably gotten the two of you into more trouble than anyone can count.'

'I don't let Fred walk all over me!' George shouted. 'That's insane!'

'Yes, you do, and you let him get away with it!'

'Where do you get off saying something like that?! You're not a part of this family! Why do you always have to stick your nose into someone else's business? _Dammit_, where are the...' He racked his brain for something he should be searching for. 'Fireworks! Where are the goddamn _fireworks_!'

At once, the boxes parted like the Red Sea to reveal a dusty old box buried in the very corner of the room. George grabbed it and shoved through the audience gathered at the door. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard Ginny mutter "Nice going, Hermione", and then give pursuit. George had already entered the kitchen when she caught up at the back door. Molly was labouring over a tray of tea near the sink and Harry had transported himself from the fireplace to the kitchen table.

'George, wait up!' Ginny urged.

'I have to get back to the shop,' said George.

'Ignore Hermione. You know her.'

'Yeah, I wish I didn't.'

George trailed off. He had just been walking by the Weasley Family Clock, which displayed the names of every member of the family and their current whereabouts. Over the years he'd grown so accustomed to its presence that he scarcely remembered to check it every so often, and only now did he realize that every hand on the clock was was pointed to "Mortal Peril". Ginny quickly followed his gaze to see what he was staring at.

'Mum says it's been like that since yesterday,' shrugged Ginny. 'She doesn't know why.'

That wasn't the reason why George was staring, though. He'd just realized something.

The hand that had his name on it was missing.

'Where's my hand?' George enquired.

'...Attached to your arm?' Ginny quipped.

'I meant my hand on the clock. Fred's, too. They're gone.'

'They're what?' Molly and Harry appeared behind them and they proceeded to all stare at the clock.

Sure enough, there were only seven hands instead of ten. Every hand with the exception of Fred and George's clock hands were missing, and after taking a quick look at the floor, George determined that they were gone altogether.

'That's very odd,' said Molly. 'I could've sworn they were there this morning.'

'Could they have just fallen off?' Harry asked.

'No, I don't think so. Permanent sticking charm. They only ever fall off if the person's dead.'

She said this all very casually.

'When did you last see them, exactly?' George asked. His consciousness was telling him that it wasn't important. His paranoid Moody-voice was telling him to investigate the matter further.

'Before noon,' said Molly. 'I went to Hogwarts to pick these four troublemakers up! I remember glancing at the clock right before I left...Goodness, now I do hope that no one was in here mucking about...Although I do seem to be missing some cookies...I'd assumed the gnomes or the ghoul in the attic had sneaked in and got them.'

'George?' Ginny said in a surprisingly gentle voice. 'Are you alright? You've gone pale.'

'I'm fine,' George checked his own pocketwatch – one that wasn't cursed. It was just after five. 'Just fine, Ginny. I'll see you later.'

Ginny hovered at the doorway as he stepped out into the lawn and into the cool breeze just rolling over the English countryside. Had George known that that was the last time he would seen Ginny for a long, long time, he would've paused to say his goodbyes with more consideration.

But he didn't know, and when he reached the end of the walk, he apparated back to London without another thought.

When he landed just outside the shop, he cracked open the door and unceremoniously dropped the boxes down by the door. He hadn't even known what he picked up; only that he would have to deal with whatever it was come morning. Right now all he wanted to do was retreat into bed and try not to think about Hermione and Fred's preoccupation with the watch. All he wanted was to forget, to go to the one place where none of this existed: his imagination, and the dreams that haunted him at night.

However, when he got up the stairs, he noticed it was deathly quiet. Either Fred was out, he really was upset, or he was getting into mischief.

'I'm back!' George called.

No answer. Fred must be out, but there was a stream of light coming out from underneath the door at the top of the stairwell. George furrowed his brow and came to a complete stop as a fresh wave of bad feelings washed over him. He couldn't gather the courage to ascend the remainder of the flight for a few minutes, which he spent wavering at the bottom of the stairs.

'Fred?' George shouted out.

There was a muffled grunt from the flat.

George hurried up. He didn't even have to touch the doorknob. He just had to picture it turning and the door flew open, crashing loudly against the wall.

Sitting on the kitchen table was Augustus Rookwood, casually turning his wand in one hand. His other hand was extended towards Fred, who was being held up by the front of his shirt, flailing wildly.

'Good of you to join us, Mr. Weasley,' Rookwood beamed like he was greeting an old friend and inviting him to tea. 'Perhaps you'll be more cooperative? Your brother seems to be incapable of having a civil conversation...All I've ever gotten out of him are a few grunts...He also made the most delightful attempt to bite me.'

George was frozen in the doorway. Rookwood smiled. His teeth were surprisingly straight and he held up his hand to show that he was clutching two clock hands in his gnarled fists. Their names were printed on them. All at once the pleasant demeanour faded into something malicious.

'We have something we need to discuss,' Rookwood said.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

_Next chapter: There are answers, from one likely source, and one unlikely source._


	8. As Follows

**VIII. As Follows**

He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He wasn't used to being placed in this position: a position where he and Fred did not have the upper hand. And as he looked across the room to where Rookwood was sitting, he was filled with a further sense of disbelief at the scene unfolding before him. Fred fell to the ground, quite unconscious, while Rookwood's taunting grin had faded from his twisted face.

'Sit,' Rookwood instructed.

George wavered on the spot. His eyes flicked to Fred. He wondered if he could stun Rookwood, but decided against sudden action when the Death Eater was still in striking distance of his brother.

'Put him down, first,' George demanded.

'No deal.'

Rookwood flicked his hand and a chair went flying across the room, forcefully knocking George into it. However, Rookwood dropped his brother and tossed him aside. He smiled slyly. He was enjoying this, that was plain from his demeanour, to the way he casually wrapped his hands around his knees and leaned forwards to stare him with the utmost interest in his pale eyes.

'Tea?' Rookwood asked casually.

'_Tea_?!' George repeated. 'Are you _serious_?!'

'Quite!'

Rookwood snapped his fingers and conjured several ropes that wrapped around the chair, forcing George in place. The harder he struggled, the tighter they became. Meanwhile, the kettle flew from the cupboard to the stove and began to make itself.

'Now, while the tea's getting ready...' Rookwood leaned back. 'How are we doing? Comfortable?'

'Comfortable?' George grunted. 'I wouldn't say that.'

'Pity. Oh, did I introduce myself? Augustus Rookwood, at your service.'

'Believe me, I know.'

'Excellent. Good old Mad-Eye has probably told you all about me - or, warned you, more likely. I expect nothing less. He really opted for the Kiss during my trail rather than just plain old imprisonment. I'm going to have to thank him for that one day. A card, maybe. I love cards. Greeting card, card games, wild cards - but I digress, I'm going to have to move through this rather quickly. You see, your shop is being watched.'

'Watched?' George repeated, despite himself. 'By who? Not the Ministry.'

'Good heavens, no. Moody and Lupin have been watching your shop since the day before yesterday. I had to turn invisible to sneak in, but I daresay that it's inevitable that we will be interrupted sometime in the near future, though hopefully not before I get in my two cents.'

George paled as he recalled a cool gust of wind, like a cloak slapping against the currents of the breeze, that had passed by him as he'd exited the shop. God, he must've ambushed Fred. George was just relieved he'd only been gone for that short period of time. Any longer and Rookwood might have decided that it wasn't worth keeping Fred alive. And Moody and Lupin...if what Rookwood said was true, then Fred's suspicions were right.

The kettle started singing. Rookwood rose to his feet, stretched, and went to retrieve it. George struggled once more, but the ropes extended around his wrists and pinned them down.

'I wouldn't fight too much,' suggested Rookwood. He poured himself some tea and returned to where he was, using his foot to tilt the chair back and look George straight in the eye. 'Those could cut off your circulation...or your hand...Are you sure you don't want tea?'

'If only to drown you in.'

'That would be rather ineffective, wouldn't it? Alright, more for me.'

Rookwood sauntered back to his seat just opposite George.

'Shall we get down to business?' Rookwood asked casually.

'Where did you get those?' George demanded.

'Get what?'

'Those clock hands!'

'What, these? Pried them off of the clock in your childhood home, of course!'

'What for?'

'I need to make a statement and these are going to help me do just that.'

'Statement to who?'

'Oh, to most it will just be a random act of violence,' Rookwood downed his entire cup of tea in one swig, like it was a bottle of whiskey. He then started to orbit the room, stepping over Fred's unconscious form. 'Another Death Eater attack. But not just done by any Death Eater. You see, Mr. Weasley, I wrote a letter to our dear Dark Lord announcing my resignation. I felt I could accomplish more as an independent agent. That, and I no longer feel the cause serves me well. Sure, it released me from Azkaban, but spending all that time in prison gives one time to clear one's mind...'

'...You mean to tell me you just "quit" the Death Eaters?' said George. 'Can you do that?'

'No. But I'm good at evading attention when I wish to do so. By the time Voldemort receives my letter, I daresay I will have vanished from the face of the Earth...now where is it?'

The last sentence was murmured more to himself. Rookwood marched forwards and shoved his hands into George's pockets, causing him to instinctively flinch and intake the distinct scent of alcohol and tobacco on Rookwood's breath.

'You better not be thinking about doing what I think you're thinking of doing,' George said warningly.

'Grow up, George,' Rookwood retaliated. 'Where is it?!'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'That's exactly what the Prewetts said when I first asked them about it...Still doesn't work now, and unlike that fateful night I don't much care for being polite.'

When he withdrew the watch, George realized that he was wearing gloves. Cradled in his palm was the Prewett watch, and he looked upon it lovingly. Rookwood let out a light gasp of surprise and relief.

'Oh,' he whispered. 'It's...It's true then. When I tore apart the cottage on Humblehaug Hill...I gave up too quickly. I thought that since Moody never found it...'

Rookwood fell silent and lowered the watch. He studied George's face.

'I knew it,' Rookwood murmured. 'Oh, but this is so ironic! I always knew that the Prewetts would try to keep the watch in the family. I just never figured that you two would be the ones to get a hold of it...I want this, more than I wanted my freedom from Azkaban!'

'You can have it,' George snapped.

'No fun in that,' said Rookwood. 'I don't just want the pocketwatch. You see, the watch is naturally attracted to talented and powerful wizards; it wants to be used, it _wants_ to be _controlled_. You two must be exceptional...more...more exceptional than many give it credit for...?'

Rookwood laughed softly. He was on his knees and rocking gently back and forth.

'Oh, dear,' Rookwood grinned feebly. 'I never expected...Oh, why just take it? It's too easy!'

Rookwood gestured vaguely. George's hand suddenly went upright. Rookwood slapped the watch into his hand and unwillingly clenched over the cold metal as the Death Eater examined the countdown.

'That's really not too long, is it?' Rookwood asked. 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to speed that up. I suppose you read the rules – do you recall what the last one was? Of course you do. Difficult to forget something like that. I admit that when I first owned it I saw no distinct purpose to that rule, when..._I_...first held it in my hands, ownership I lost when those Prewetts laid their grubby little fingers on it and soiled its magnificence with their disregard for the sheer complexity of the magic behind it!'

George's eyes instinctively flicked to the clock. It was a quarter after five. He vaguely remembered that it had been five-thirty, two days ago, when they found it.

'Ah, yes, the magic number! Two! Two wizards! Twins! Brothers! History is repeating itself!'

Rookwood tightened the binds holding George down.

'You see, George, if you and your dear brother here die tonight, that watch will absorb all of your magical talent and use it to enhance the power of the next owner. It would be a waste to simply take it when I can kill you and your brother. With each soul it claims, its potency grows!...And when I pry it off of your _cold, dead bodies,_ everything that belonged to every previous owner, every ounce of power, every secret of Prewetts and Weasleys and all owners alike...will belong to me! The world will be a truly brilliant place once you are dead! It will be brilliant!'

Rookwood laughed and raised his wand, as if he was conducting an orchestra.

'Whoops, I suppose that doesn't make sense,' Rookwood laughed. 'I said "cold, dead bodies". What I really meant were "very warm, dead bodies, and possibly a bit fried".'

From the sleeve of his coat he pulled out a box of matches. He had to strike it twice before a flame was conjured, seemingly harmless and innocent and very much overwhelmed by the presence of the wizard who'd created it. George eyed it.

'I understand you have quite a few flammable objects in the shop,' said Rookwood. 'That should burn the place down quite nicely, don't you think? Some might even think it was an accident. Anyways, I'll be sure to come back to rightfully claim my property once you are very much dead.'

He dropped the match.

The moment it hit the ground, Rookwood gestured randomly and it started to spurt, getting dangerously close to where Fred was lying. When George looked up again, Rookwood was gone and the heat was quickly rushing up from the growing flames up to his face. The tendrils of the flames seemingly danced from object to object in the flat, touching each object. The next thing George knew, smoke started to billow up from the objects to the ceiling.

George jerked his hands around in an attempt to get slack around his wrists. His eyes flicked to Fred. The fire was crawling closer to his body.

'Fred!' George shouted. 'Fred, you _git_! Get up!'

Using his foot, he managed to deliver a sharp kick to his brother's leg. Fred let out a soft groan, but was otherwise unresponsive. Smoke was piling up in the rafters.

Great. If he didn't choke on the smoke he'd burn to death. Or maybe both. While the idea of dying heroically in flames had a mild sense of appeal, George knew he couldn't afford to get caught up in the quick succession of events that were happening. He desperately tugged at his wrists and toppled the chair onto its side. He and Fred had practised this sort of trick when they were children and trying Muggle tricks was for fun; they'd take turns tying each other up and the other would have to escape without wandless magic.

The more he moved his wrists, the tighter they became. George arched his head. Flames were at the top of his head.

'Let me go!' George demanded.

The binds immediately loosened.

He didn't stop to question or contemplate the response. He sprang to his feet, stumbled slightly, and immediately inhaled a great deal of smoke. George's knees buckled and he violently coughed, but he forced himself forwards towards Fred. No matter what he tried, though, weakness followed. He could barely hold himself up.

'Fred! George!'

The muffled voice was coming from downstairs. George managed to pick up Fred by one arm.

Someone was storming up the back stairs. Seconds later, Lupin burst into the room, leaning on a cane and his wand drawn. He rushed forwards and took Fred's other arm.

'Hold on tightly,' he directed.

He slashed his wand through the air, murmuring some quick disenchantment.

In a crack, the three of them disappeared. Cool night air hit George's face, soothing the burns on his cheeks. He collapsed forwards and started retching and coughing violently, knotting the grass in between his fingers. Lupin was panting nearby.

'Are you alright?' Lupin asked.

'F – Fred?' George breathed.

Fred's body shifted in response.

'I'm fine,' mumbled Fred. 'I feel like I got hit by a train...Where are we?'

'My house,' said Lupin. 'Can you walk?'

'Yup.'

'Get inside, quickly.'

George couldn't reply. He was having a great deal of difficulty inhaling, one hand pressed to his chest and the other to his head. All of the voices surrounding him started to fade and become distant to him, until the lightheartedness took over him and he collapsed forwards.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~

' - is burning down, and if you had kept those fireworks in proper storage the damage would've been a lot less worse!'

'Wasn't asking for your opinion, Mad-Eye!'

These were the voices that heralded George's return to the land of the living. He let out a cough and sat back up, the lightheaded sensation quickly clearing.

He was lying in Lupin's living room. Fred was closest to him, while Lupin was standing in between them and Mad-Eye Moody, whose face was covered in soot and his stance betraying that he would very much like to rip the twins apart.

'Alright, George?' Fred asked.

'What happened?' George questioned

'You passed out, that's what happened.'

'...The shop?'

Fred averted his gaze.

'It's gone!' Moody snapped. 'It's burning to the ground as we speak! Didn't anyone teach you to cast protective spells around flammable objects? Did it never occur to you or did you just think you were invincible anyways?! What I'm more interested in is why!'

'Perhaps this isn't the time to be discussing it?' suggested Lupin.

'No, this _is_ the perfect time! This confirmed what I suspected to begin with!'

'Moody – .'

'No more playing by your rules, Lupin.'

Lupin briefly turned to the twins. 'I had been hoping you would come to us first before we accused you of anything...'

'We were going to,' said George, disregarding Fred's irritable expression. 'Today.'

George reached into his pocket and extracted the watch.

Moody and Lupin each let out a breath, though he knew instinctively that it wasn't out of relief. They both followed his movements as he sat up and placed it on the coffee table.

'It was Rookwood,' said George.

'He ambushed me in the shop about an hour ago,' explained Fred. 'He asked about that thing, but – well, I didn't tell him anything.'

'He questioned me when I got back,' George continued, 'and said that he needed to make an example out of us. He started the fire.'

It was clear from their expressions that they had already deduced this without either of the twins saying anything. George belatedly realized that they were sitting in the same spots they'd been in following the kidnapping of Ollivander. Moody was across from them, sitting on the edge of his seat with his hands folded and both, unfocused eyes on the watch. Lupin hobbled over on his cane and also took to staring at it.

'George and I have a perfectly reasonable question,' said Fred.

'And we expect nothing but the truth from two wizards who have been perfectly honest with us from the beginning,' George added sarcastically.

'So, if you please...'

'What the _bloody hell_ is going on?'

Moody exchanged a glance with Lupin, then went back to staring at the pocketwatch.

'They deserve to know,' said Lupin. 'They're already tied up in it. If you don't say anything, I'll tell them.'

Moody grumbled something that sounded like an agreement.

'Twenty years ago, the Ministry of Magic was infiltrated; we knew there was a traitor somewhere in our midst, but we didn't know who it was,' explained Moody. 'I always suspected Rookwood. Didn't like the way he looked. Most said the eccentric behaviour, the chronic lying, and the obsession with Dark Magic was because he was an Unspeakable, like being an Unspeakable made him exempt from suspicion. But, against direct orders, mind, I broke into his house one evening, and I confiscated a number of objects I believed were dark artifacts. This watch was one of those objects.'

'What is it, exactly?' George asked.

'Its purpose is to collect magical energy from its owners. If the owner dies before their time, then the watch absorbs their soul, transferring it into power it then passes onto its next owner. To ensure that this is completed, the watch has a sort of advanced curse that brings misfortune to its current owner – or _owners_, as it is – of the life-threatening variety, until they are finally dragged into a situation that takes their life. Thus, the watch gains their power, and thus the level of magic wielded by the following owner increases. As far as I know, it's been doing this for well over two hundred years, since the first wizarding pocketwatches were created in the 1700s.'

'Did it belong to the Prewett family?'

'No. That inscription was added by Gideon and Fabian, presumably as a proclamation of ownership. Some good it did. Needless to say, before I had the opportunity to study it in greater detail, the watch was stolen by Gideon and Fabian Prewett. They were always a little too curious for their own good. After it went missing, they estranged themselves from the Order, committed heinous crimes against wizard-kind, and were hunted by Order members and Death Eaters alike...In the end the Death Eaters got to them first.'

George's mouth fell open slightly, but Fred did not linger on surprise.

'What kind of crimes?' Fred asked.

'We only knew about a select few,' said Lupin, 'and they never lived to explain themselves fully. From what we understood, they were performing experiments with Dark Magic related to the watch.'

'And...and does our mum...?'

'She knows nothing,' Lupin leaned against the mantle, examining the portrait of the witch and wizard quite absently. 'We couldn't bear for her to know the truth. Ultimately we didn't understand the Prewetts actions, but they never directly antagonized us, and...we were all...too close to them. When the time came when we should've told her, we didn't. Besides, though we all knew that the Prewetts were performing experiments, there was never enough evidence collected to use against them in a court of law, so no official charges were laid, either. After they died there didn't seem to be any point in telling Molly.'

'So what really happened the night they died?' Fred asked. 'Were you "hunting" them along with the Death Eaters?'

'No. The Prewetts contacted the Order and said they wanted to surrender themselves. Rookwood had been hunting the watch ever since Moody had taken it, and had traced it to those two.'

'I take it that's the real reason Rookwood was so interested in them?' George questioned.

'It's the only reason,' said Moody. 'Rookwood had been owner of the watch and used the power it granted him to cheat, maim, murder, and advance his own interests. He's a survivor.'

'How many members of the Order know about the watch, itself?'

'Just us. We only found out about its nature after the Prewetts were gone.'

'What happens if the owner looses ownership of the watch and they aren't dead?'

'Their remaining lifespan is cut in half.'

'That doesn't sound promising,' said Fred.

'Sounds like a cheat,' added George.

'Precisely,' agreed Moody. 'And if Rookwood gets the watch back, not only will his power increase now that it's been handled by _four_ additional owners, his life span will go back to what it was before. It's a bit more than that, though. He had been drinking off of it for so long that he's become addicted and it's clear now that even after all this time, he can't bare the thought of living without it. I remember checking up on all the Death Eaters in Azkaban. Rookwood had scratched the walls until his fingernails came out. The absence of the pocketwatch created a gnawing effect that's etched away at his personality. Once, he probably would've hesitated to do anything drastic. Now he just doesn't care.'

'What about You-Know-Who?' asked Fred.

'If he knows about its existence, he has little interest in it. I think it's more likely that he doesn't know about it.'

'Wait a minute, Rookwood's a Death Eater,' said Fred. 'Obviously this _has_ to be for You-Know-Who.'

'He told me he quit,' said George.

'He did _what_? Can you do that?'

'Not unless he plans to go on the run,' Moody rose to his feet and headed to the window. He pulled back the curtain.

'Well, I can't really blame him,' said Fred. 'I hear the Death Eater medical plan is horrendous.'

'I suspect You-Know-Who won't be pleased about this,' George agreed.

'No, he won't,' said Moody. 'In fact, I suspect that's Rookwood's intention.'

'To piss off his former boss?'

'Yes. Once upon a time, Rookwood was as devoted as the rest of them, but years of imprisonment in Azkaban could have potentially warped his sanity a bit. To him, provoking Voldemort might be a bit of fun and possession of the watch would mean absolute freedom to do whatever he pleased.'

'But he doesn't have it.'

'Exactly, and that's our best advantage, though it won't remain so for long.'

Silence. They all started malevolently at the watch sitting innocently on the coffee table.

'Was that note for you?' Fred asked. 'The note we found at Humblehaug?'

'Indirectly, perhaps,' said Moody. 'I think it's for one of the Prewetts' contacts. Either way, the note proved that the Prewetts were investigating methods to destroy the watch, but ran out of time. Like you two are right now.'

Moody returned to them.

'Keep watch outside, Lupin,' he ordered. 'Let's be clear. Rookwood probably knows by now that you survived the fire, but he's going to be coming for you again. And again. And again. Steadily chipping away at you until somewhere down the line you make a mistake that he can take advantage of.'

'Why not just take care of Rookwood?' Fred demanded. 'Why haven't you done it before?'

'You don't think I haven't tried?' Moody snapped irritably. 'For the record, you two first denied having the watch, and then almost burned to death, which is a fate you almost deserve for being so stupid and arrogant to believe that this wasn't worth the attention of the rest of the Order! In doing so you've proven my exact point to Dumbledore and your mother! You two aren't ready and you were damn well nearly killed in the process!'

'We didn't ask Rookwood to attack us!' George rose to his feet.

'Not to mention – !' Fred started.

'If you had just been forward with us – !'

'_From the start_ – !'

'All of this could've been avoided!'

'Don't lecture me!' Moody shouted.

'How about we all calm down?' Lupin intervened. 'It's quite clear what needs to be done, and that does not involve bickering amongst ourselves.'

'Alright, what "needs to be done"?' demanded George.

'Well, it's obvious!' Lupin exclaimed, looking at everyone in turn before addressing the twins, directly. 'The watch must be destroyed – even if Rookwood is killed, you two will be cursed and your lives will be an eternal torment until the watch gets the best of you. While Rookwood is alive, he'll be in constant pursuit and tempting fate. The Prewetts were on to something. The best thing to do is go back to Humblehaug House and investigate for clues.'

'There is one other alternative,' said Moody. 'I could just take the watch off your hands now. It would acknowledge me as an owner and I could go after Rookwood, myself. I've been wanting to wipe that smirk off his face for years!'

'You're forgetting that if you do that, _their_ life spans are cut in half,' Lupin pointed out.

'They'll be long enough. Hand it over!'

Fred and George's eyes immediately met. Flashing in front of his eyes was the image of the countdown of two years, six months, and six days. That was all they had left. Cut in half...that was only just over a year. And it was unacceptable.

'Thanks for thinking of us, Moody, but we'd much rather live long and productive lives,' said Fred.

'That are not cut short,' George folded his arms.

'If you give it to me now, we can settle this tonight!' Moody exclaimed.

'It isn't worth it,' said Lupin.

Moody let out an animal-like growl, like he was contemplating snatching the watch off the table, himself. Fortunately he seemed to think better of it and marched over to the window to have another look outside. He stood in silent contemplation while the remainder of them stood at a safe distance to allow the experienced and undefeated Moody to revise his plans.

'New plan,' he decided, turning to face the crowd. 'You three head to Humblehaug House and look for so-called "clues". I'm going back to Diagon Alley. Rookwood may still be there, in which case I am going to do what I should have done when the Ministry of Magic couldn't finish the job.'

'We should tell their parents what's going on,' said Lupin.

'Absolutely not. Until this is sorted out, I don't want these two anywhere near the Burrow _or_ Grimmauld Place.'

'What, we're supposed to let our family think we're _dead_?' Fred laughed coldly. 'Believe it or not, they might find out about the fire at the shop sooner or later.'

'Not really,' Lupin shook his head. 'We'll just...delay giving them any conclusive information. This should be sorted out in a few hours, hopefully.'

'I'm off,' said Moody. 'Get to Humblehaug. And Lupin? You might want to fortify your defences around this house. If Rookwood can't find those two, he'll come looking for you, next.'

They waited until Moody had exited the house and disappeared into the night before they relaxed. Lupin staggered slightly and supported himself against the mantle, his face having gone suddenly pale. The fine scars lining his cheek lucidly stood out.

'How long did the watch say you have to live?' Lupin asked. 'It's not long, is it?'

George pursed his lips and glanced to Fred.

'Two years, six months, and six days,' Fred confirmed, his tone surprisingly light. 'Well, five days now, I suppose.'

'So it wouldn't even matter if we get through all this,' George shrugged. 'We're going to drop dead anyways.'

Lupin shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. 'We should leave. The last thing we need is Rookwood lurking about.'

The three of them vacated the house. With a quick flick of his wand, Lupin smothered all lights and they stood on the lawn for a brief second, marvelling at the sudden darkness of the forest home. Crickets echoed over the English countryside in anticipation of sudden conflict. Fred and George waited patiently while Lupin performed concealment and defensive enchantments around his home. When he was finished, the former professor lingered, one hand resting on the wooden door frame, before he dared part with it and he rushed up to join the twins at the end of the walk.

'How does Rookwood know where you live?' George questioned.

'Long story,' said Lupin. He eyed the darkness suspiciously. 'I suggest we depart.'

In three sharp snaps, the wizards disapparated, one after another, leaving Lupin's house to its fate.


	9. From Beyond the Grave

**IX. From Beyond the Grave**

Humblehaug was the same. It radiated the same sort of childlike delight when they stepped over his threshold, pleased to have visitors once more in such a short period of time, when before it had lived in years in loneliness and neglect. Each of their party took to different levels. Lupin took the basement (citing that he didn't trust either of the twins alone down there), Fred took the ground floor, and George took to the loft, where the inklings of stars could be seen beyond the broken boards. There he imagined he was standing in the ruins of their shop. All their dreams, their aspirations, had been destroyed in one hour. All gone. He could feel his spirit tremble.

George overturned the mattress on one of the broken beds to examine the contents underneath. He found nothing interesting save for a bag of hard candy and a photo album with the singular picture of a trio of individuals huddled together. It was the Prewetts. All three siblings – Gideon, Fabian, and Molly – together in happier times. He looked at it apathetically and tossed it aside, before deciding to momentarily retreat to the room downstairs. He found Fred sifting through a few drawers, taking great care not to touch the long-dried blood stains.

Fred's face was heavy and angry when they made eye contact.

Wiping his leg around, Fred kicked the cabinet. It jolted violently.

'Stupid Death Eater!' Fred shouted.

'Found anything?' George asked.

'If I found anything, do you think I'd bother with this?' demanded Fred.

'We still have the mailing business – we can make money off of that for now.'

'It could take years before we have enough galleons to restart!'

'We're barely eighteen, Fred, maybe this is a good time for us to get more experience...'

'Doing what?! We've been preparing for this since fifth year! This was supposed to be our chance to prove to Mum and Dad that we could earn a profit!'

'It could've been a lot worse.'

'_How_ exactly?'

'We could've gone down with the shop.'

Fred inhaled deeply and shook his head. 'I'm not sure about that.'

'Well, that's a nice way to put it,' George laughed.

'George, all our dreams just got destroyed in one night! _One_ night! How can you act like – like we just lost – !'

Fred's voice faded. George stepped forwards and put a hand on his shoulder, bending down to meet the corner of his eyes.

'I know,' he said. 'I'm trying to...you know, Fred...'

'No, I don't know!' Fred shouted. He violently tugged away. 'What was it all for?! We've lost everything!'

'We haven't! Besides, we still have all those prototypes back at the Burrow! Surely we could use some of that stuff to at least have a basis to start over! Even if we've lost the building, we still have a chance to keep going! We have our lives! I'd say that's a lot to be grateful for, but if you don't see it that way, fine! Wish you'd gone down with the shop and see if I care!'

'You know I don't wish that.'

'You have a funny way of putting it. There's no bringing back the shop. It's _over_.'

Fred's expression burned into his soul, so George returned to the sanctuary of the loft.

He took a good look around at the fine layer of dust. Better than ashes, he thought bitterly. He trampled around the loft before sitting down on the only piece of furniture which had not descended into decay: a single chair, where he could see the whole room.

George sat in silent meditation in the silence. Since there wasn't anything up here he could use the time he could be looking for contemplation at what had just happened.

He wasn't sure what they would do, now. All of their coin had been invested in that shop and, along with their hopes and aspirations, everything was gone. Their spirit was gone. Their supplies were gone. All they had left were the clothes on their back. Even their own pride had been burnt down with their months of hard work. All the same, George couldn't help but add in his mind that it could have been a lot worse - they could have down down with the shop and they hadn't by a narrow margin. But at the moment it seemed like small comfort; what good were their lives when they had no where to go? Returning to the Burrow would be a humiliating and degrading experience. Proof. All they needed was will and they had none.

Sighing, he leaned forwards and started sifting through a pile of ashes and dust to try to keep himself from thinking about his parents. George dug around until his fingertips met something smooth to the touch. George extracted a thin vial containing what appeared to be a single strand of short hair that glowed sharply in the dust. He immediately knew what it was. It was a memory. A memory plucked from the brow of a skilled wizard and placed into a vial for safekeeping.

'I found something!' George shouted.

He heard several feet stamp across the floor and up the ladder into the loft. No sooner had he called out when both Fred and Lupin appeared.

'What is it?' Lupin asked.

'I think it's a memory,' said George. He held out the vial, which Lupin greedily snatched from his hands to examine more closely.

'Who's memory?' Fred asked.

'Let's find out,' said Lupin.

He immediately took a good look at their surroundings before heading over to the closet George had already checked. There was a basin at the very bottom of it. It was only when Lupin levitated it into the centre of the perpetual mess that he recognized it to be that of a Pensive, an object he'd only read about, but had only ever seen in the office of Dumbledore. The three of them encircled the Pensive while Lupin filled it with water with a quick flick of his wand, uncorked the memory, and dropped it.

At once the vague, shimmering memory twisted and floated seamlessly in the water.

'You go first, George,' Lupin insisted.

He did so. This was not a new experience to him. During their time at Hogwarts, he and Fred had used the Pensive in Dumbledore's office to explore fragments of the headmaster's memory, hoping to bare witness to the headmaster's infamous fight with Gregoravich, though they'd only found themselves in a memory of a younger Dumbledore sitting in a cozy living room eating a giant slice of cheesecake. And that was the whole memory. Dumbledore eating cheesecake.

This time, however, he was greeted with a very different experience as he vaguely felt his body spiral downwards through cool water. Darkness encased him and for a split second he thought that the memory was too degenerated for them to see, but then he became aware of muffled voices sounding from nearby. He gently floated until he landed on a hard surface. The voices were still muffled, but grew more potent and audible with every passing second. He was joined by Lupin and Fred shortly, just when he realized they had arrived at the very place they had just left.

The loft had transformed from a place of abandonment, into a place of life and joy. There were two beds before them and in the rafters, a large brown owl hooted gleefully. The voices, themselves, were coming from two individuals within the room. One was near the window, his blurred outline framed with light, while the other lay comfortably on one of the beds.

'This pointless!'

'You're in denial,' said the opposing voice.

'Only if we can't fulfil our end of the – .'

'Entertain me for a second.'

The voices and the people solidified.

George found himself looking into the faces of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

He almost cried out with surprise and joy with the resurgence of longing emotions felt only by a child who had lost family. They were as he remembered them. Their features were equally strong and determined, and though they were on the shorter side, they remained as broad and overpowering as ever. Their presence swelled throughout the room, from their deep brown eyes, to their vibrant red hair.

The twin on the bed was obviously Fabian. George wasn't even sure how he knew this. Just as he realized this, he noticed a third presence in the room. It was a decrepit old man with a gaunt face, lost eyes, and sitting cross-legged in the exact chair he'd been in minutes before. There was also something familiar about him, though it wasn't nearly as strong. The elderly gentleman watched Gideon pacing like a hawk about to strike his prey, though there was a combined air of uncertainty.

'...They're a lot shorter than I remember,' Fred said loudly.

'_We_ were a lot shorter back then,' George pointed out.

'So...who's he?' Fred asked, gesturing to the unknown gentleman.

'He looks a bit familiar.'

'Shh,' Lupin hushed.

'This seems silly,' Gideon huffed. He paused by the window to examine the outside. 'Ignatius, you're sure?'

The old man nodded sullenly. 'If you didn't want my opinion, you shouldn't have asked for my opinion.'

'Ignatius?' repeated Fred, as Gideon and Ignatius continued to argue about the legitimacy of whatever they were discussing.

'Not Great-Uncle Ignatius,' continued George.

'...I didn't realize the old bugger was still alive.'

'If you two are going to argue about this,' Ignatius suddenly rose to his feet, 'then there is no point in continuing this discussion. I only came to tell you the facts. Now you have to plan.'

'We've talked the plan to death,' argued Fabian. He stood on top of the bed, flailing his arms dramatically. 'Plan, plan, plan! I don't call this a plan! You're asking us to commit outright murder!'

'If it's the only way to destroy the pocketwatch, then I don't see what choice we have,' argued Gideon.

Fabian jumped off the bed and gave his brother a firm look. 'This is too much, and you know it.'

'I'm not asking you to commit any crime,' said Ignatius. 'I'm simply telling you what must be done to destroy the watch. Honestly, you two have been motivated by nothing but selfish desire for two years to keep its power - and now that it's coming to an end, you don't want to destroy it because it's too much of an _inconvenience._ Do you want to live in this hovel until you're dead and buried or do you want to redeem yourselves and return to your family?'

'No,' said Fabian. 'It's murder and it's wrong. I don't care if the watch ends up killing us both.'

'We can't risk Rookwood getting it,' Gideon argued.

Fabian glared at him. 'If you do this, you do it alone.'

A standoff. Fabian's voice was laced with poison. Gideon's mouth was pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

'Fabian, look,' Gideon stepped forwards. 'If we die before our countdown is finished, we'll be trapped in a state that's lingering, unthinking, and mindless - we won't be ghosts, we'll be husks. If we destroy the watch we'll be free to go on to...wherever we go to after we die...and we'll free every other soul the watch has absorbed. Not to mention this is the only way to deter Rookwood once and for all. If we don't go through with it we'll just be delaying the inevitable.'

'In order to sever its connection with this world – where it gains its strength – all but the current owner (or owners) must be killed,' said Ignatius. 'You're lucky that most former owners are extremely dark and dangerous wizards. You'd be doing the world a favour by finishing them off.'

'It's no different than what we were doing with the Order,' said Gideon. 'We're experts at this, Fabian! This is what we were trained for!'

'I just...I don't know,' Fabian murmured skeptically.

'Imagine being able to see Molly, Arthur, and the boys again!...Wouldn't it be nice to meet Ron?...That's worth it, isn't it?'

Gideon held out his hand. He'd been clutching the pocketwatch in his palm the whole time and as he held it out, it managed to catch what little light there was.

The scene started to blur and the voices became distant and obsolete. George felt himself being unwillingly dragged from the scene of the two brothers, with Ignatius looking expectantly between them, in anticipation of some vital decision.

They landed back in the loft, altogether, and the room had descended back into the decay they were familiar with. Lupin took a few steps to where they had last seen the group standing, before looking back at the twins with their own inquisitiveness reflected right back at them. He shook his head in disbelief, sighed, and twisted the sleeve of his coat in one hand, before opening his mouth to speak. However, instead of speaking, there was an abrupt thud from the room below. The door had crashed open.

The three of them hurried down the ladder, wands drawn and prepared to defend themselves, but instead of a lone Death Eater, the door was open, a breeze was rolling in, and Alastor Moody stood before them – drenched in blood – with the moon highlighted dramatically behind him.

There was a drawn pause before anyone dared to speak.

'Okay, who did you kill this time and who's going to sue?' demanded Fred.

'Please wipe your feet before you step in,' added George.

'Damn that Rookwood!' Moody hobbled over to the overturned, obviously injured. Lupin reached out to touch his shoulder, but the Auror shrugged him off. 'Don't touch me! Some of this blood is mine.'

'You're telling me you couldn't take out one lousy Death Eater?' Fred asked. 'The infamous Mad-Eye was bested by some crazed lunatic? Shame on you!'

'I had to hold back!' Moody argued. 'There were plenty of people nearby and Rookwood didn't hesitate to use them against me! He got away before I could get him.'

He turned directly to Lupin.

'Bastard's learned a few tricks,' said Moody. 'But we don't have time to talk. Weasleys, you're going to have to make a run for it.'

'Run?' Fred laughed bitterly. 'I like a good joke, Moody, but if you think we're going to turn on our heels and head for the horizon – .'

'That's exactly what I'm suggesting.'

'But...but what about our family?'

'We'll explain it to them. What's important is that you get as far away from this house as possible.'

'Do you think Rookwood will be able to break through the defensive charms on the Burrow?' questioned Lupin.

'Not sure. He's got skill, but even he has to abide to the fundamental laws of protective charms. Regardless, if they go directly there, he won't rest until he finds some rule to exploit. No, they have to run. Rookwood will be coming here next and I don't want him leaving alive!'

'That's insane,' said George. 'Let us help you!'

'You're forgetting the real reason Rookwood's coming,' Moody pointed out. 'Did you find any clues?'

'Gideon and Fabian seemed to think that there was a way to destroy the watch,' said Lupin. 'Old Ignatius was involved. It had to do with former owners of the watch.'

'It's a start,' Moody grumbled. 'Good enough. Now get going.'

'And _where_ exactly are we supposed to go?' George demanded.

'The Muggle world's probably your safest bet. Most wizards aren't willing to hide there; a lot of them can't blend in, but I think you two could pull it off.'

'This is just getting better and better,' said Fred.

'Look, I know we used to sneak out to the village near our home when we were kids, but that was only for just a little while!' George exclaimed. 'We don't have any money, we don't have any supplies – .'

'Get moving,' urged Moody. 'Last I checked Rookwood was right on my heel. Jog my memory, Lupin, what's the name of that Muggle village just down the way?'

'Polecroft?'

'Go to the Burrow and collect the Weasleys. Move them to Grimmauld Place, then get Molly and Arthur and take them to Polecroft to meet the twins. I want you to find out how Ignatius is tied up in all this. Weasleys, you're going there on foot, and be quick about it. I'm going to finish off Rookwood.'

'You can't possibly expect us to leave you here!' Fred argued.

'Of course I do!' Moody barked. 'Do you think I spent the last war just staring at the wall and - !'

He fell abruptly silent, turning towards the door.

'No more arguing! Get out of here!'

Moody twisted his wand and slashed it at the back wall. George's hands flew up to cover his ears, but before he knew what he was doing, Lupin and Moody, combined, were shoving the two of them through the opening. They hit open air and he briefly caught a glimpse of the forest highlighted in the moonlight, before they were scurrying down into the treeline on the opposite side of Humblehaug. Before they hit the forest, their group skidded to a halt and looked back a final time. He could feel it, now. Some sort of arcane magic that played the night like an instrument. A darkness seemed to be grasping the cottage that had once faithfully served as a safe haven for Gideon and Fabian. Then, the sound of a fight breaking out broke the silence.

Lupin ushered them into the treeline and that was the last they saw of Humblehaug.

oooo

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed. You guys are inspiring. It's always been difficult to keep motivated for a story when it feels like there's nobody listening, but everyone's encouragement is always a motivator._

_Next chapter: Moody picks a fight, Rookwood taunts, and there's general chaos. In order word's it's all in good fun._

_Oh, there's something else maybe I could ask everyone's help with. I've looked all through the internet but FFN can be quite a diverse place, so maybe I'll get lucky. There's a character coming up who's quite Irish and I should like for her to have an accent. Mind, I'm not going to be "writing out" the accent; I'll just mention it, but I was wondering if there's any native Irish out there who have some tips on some slang terms or generally things I should know about - well, being Irish. Cultural things, mind. It's much different reading about it on a website than it is to actually be a part of that culture, and I'm a full-blooded Canadian who knows little about what it means to be Irish. That, or anyone who generally just knows for certain._

_In return, I'll tell you everything you need to know...about being Canadian._

_That was a joke. I'm pointing it out because jokes can get lost in transition._


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